It's Not the End of the World, Baby
by OpheliaOddball
Summary: Follow up to still unbroken. The apocalypse has come, Lucifer is free and Miriana Westchild is dragged back into the war between heaven and hell. But can she survive, keep her family safe, and can she ever be with the one she truly loves?
1. Chapter 1

_TA-DA! Here it is, the follow up to Still Unbroken. Hope the title is okay; thanks go to the band the Lostprophets for writing a great song and title :) Anyway, a big thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter of Still Unbroken; I can only hope you enjoy this story as much as the last one! :) I'll follow the plot of season 5 to some extent, but Miriana will be separate from the Winchesters quite a bit (don't worry Cas will pretty much always be there). The rating is T at the moment but it's likely to go up to M later in the story. I'll hopefully have the next chapter up by the weekend, but anyhoo, enjoy! :)_

_I'm dead, _thought Miriana, _I must be dead. _She chanted it over and over in her head as the white light broke in waves over her head as if she was underwater. She kept a vice like grip on Nate's jacket, squeezing the fabric so tightly her fingers ached. The noise was so loud she felt certain she would be permanently deafened, or the skin stripped from her skin by the intensity of the wind. Her grip on Nate's unconscious body felt like the only tenuous link that was keeping her attached to the earth.

Abruptly, the light stopped, turning the world dark again. She risked a peek from behind her tightly scrunched shut eyelids, slowly opening them when she realized it was safe. The terrible aural assault had also stopped, leaving Miriana's ears ringing and her head spinning. The scream of the wind died down too until it was little more than a light breeze, brushing over her skin. She slumped back against her car, completely relieved and calm, until she gathered her thoughts and remembered everything that had happened.

Sam. She shot to her feet, looking over the roof of her car towards the dark horizon, searching for the convent. There was nothing left of it, just a mound of bricks and mortar in the distance. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes as she gazed into the distance; there was no way Sam could have survived the blast of light and power that had sprung forth from the convent. And the light- the feeling of it washing over her had been so familiar. Then she remembered with a sudden jolt her first encounter with Castiel that night at Pamela's, before he had contained his raw power inside a vessel. Granted, the light she had felt pouring over her tonight had been a thousand times stronger and a million times more painful, but it had still felt angelic. And that, she realized with a horrible feeling of dread descending over her, meant that Lucifer was out. There was no other explanation for an explosion of that magnitude, or a burst of that much power.

She hastily wiped the tears away from her face when she heard Nate groan, stirring back into consciousness. She didn't want him to think anything was wrong just yet.

"Hey, sweetie," she said softly, kneeling down beside him in the dusty gravel, "How's your head?"

He slowly reached up and fumbled along his forehead until he found the bleeding cut, "When did that happen?" he asked groggily.

"I don't know," she replied, "You fell when the explosion hit; I guess you did it then."

"Oh!" he sat up suddenly, then fell back against the ground, clutching his head, "What was that light?"

"I think..." she paused. There was no point lying to him now, "I think it was Lucifer, Nate. He's out."

Under the blood and dust and sweat, Nate's face visibly paled. He glanced up at the dark sky, as if expecting an answer from the stars.

"Oh God," he muttered, "We're in some serious shit now, huh?"

Miriana gave a shaky laugh, "Yeah, I guess so. Can you get up?"

"Give me a hand," he grumbled. Miriana slid an arm underneath his shoulders and helped to haul him to his feet, moving him against the car so he could lean against it. He sighed heavily, dabbing at the cut on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

Miriana shook her head, "I don't know. Look for Dean, I suppose."

Nate paused for a long second, scuffing the gravel under his feet, "What about Sam?"

Her eyes filled with tears again, "I...he was in that building, Nate. He can't possibly have survived that blast."

"You never know," he said, giving her a half hearted smile, "You know what the Winchesters are like. Always being resurrected."

"Not this time, I don't think," he said, her voice shaking.

They both stayed silent for a few minutes, each lost in their thoughts. She couldn't take her mind off Sam. Had he known what he was doing when he broke the devil free from his prison? No, she told herself. He couldn't have known. Sam had spent most of his life hunting evil; there was no way he would have raised Satan deliberately. She stared up at the starless sky, wondering if the angels were looking down and clapping their hands in glee, full of joy that their plan had worked so smoothly. She wondered where Castiel was, what he was thinking. She couldn't see him being as happy as the rest of his brothers and sisters.

"We should get moving," Miriana said, breaking the tense silence.

"Yeah...right," Nate muttered dazedly. Miriana cast him a worried glance. As soon as they got somewhere safer, she was definitely getting his head checked out.

"Well, well," came a cold, drawling voice from behind them, "Look what we have here. The charming Miss Westchild and her little baby faced cousin, what a treat."

She whirled around, stepping in front of Nate. There were four people sauntering towards them, and she guessed from the cruel smirks on their faces that they were demons. Her fears were proved when their eyes flashed liquid black. There were two nondescript men, and a voluptuous, dark chestnut haired woman with her arm around third man, who was all cheekbones and clear, ice blue eyes.

He was horribly familiar.

"Rueben?" she asked tentatively.

His cold smirk grew, "Hey, Miriana. Long time, no see, baby."

She felt Nate tense up behind her, his muscles coiled as tight as a spring.

"Oh terrific," she spat, "Just what I need."

"I think I could be just what you need," he said huskily, his eyes roving all over her body, "If you weren't so uptight."

Nate gave an involuntary jerk behind her as if he was about to launch himself forwards, but she held her arm out across his chest. They'd rip his face off if he tried to fight them.

"That's right," Reuben said, his voice mocking, "Protect what's left of your pathetic little family. They'll be dead soon, and then I'll have you all to myself."

He disentangled himself from the dark haired woman and stepped forwards, lifting a hand to brush a strand of hair away from her forehead. From anyone else, it would have felt tender, but from him it felt lecherous, and she winced away.

"Imagine what a treat that will be," he murmured, "Don't you think Selene?"

The dark haired woman smiled an awful, oddly feline grin then bit her full bottom lip, as if in anticipation.

"Definitely," she purred.

Miriana felt her stomach turn over, and fought the bile in the back of her throat, "I'd rather shove bamboo splinters down my nails," she hissed.

"Well that can easily be arranged," he said in a cheerful tone.

"Why are you here?" she asked, very aware of the cold press of the hilt of the knife digging into the exposed flesh of her hip.

"Why do you think? We're here for the party," he said, spreading his arms wide, "Our saviour has come."

"You mean Lucifer?" she said, and then let out a bitter laugh, "I hardly think he's a saviour."

"Well, not for you," he said, gesturing at the two of them, "But for us, it's pretty much one long party. Hell on earth."

"How nice for you," Miriana spat.

"Yeah it will be," Reuben said, "And I think I might take you along for the ride."

He gestured at the two hulking demons behind him, and they stepped forwards in unison, pushing Miriana roughly to one side and closing their huge fists around Nate's arm, dragging him aside.

"After I've gutted your precious little cousin, of course," he said, pulling a knife from inside his tailored jacket.

She took her chance when he turned his back and launched herself at him, wrenching the knife free of her belt. She raised it through the air, aiming for the spot right between his shoulder blades, but before she could make contact, Selene stepped forwards, driving her knee into Miriana's stomach. She gasped in pain, winded, and the knife dropped to the floor with a clatter. Selene grabbed a fistful of Miriana's short dark hair, wrenching her head back roughly so she gritted her teeth in pain. She heard Nate cry out, then there was the unmistakeable sound of knuckles hitting flesh, and Nate was instantly silenced.

Reuben bent down and then straightened up, clutching her knife in his long, slender hands.

"Well would look at this," he said, letting out a low whistle, "Ve-e-ry nice. What do you think of this, Selene? Looks kind of like Ruby's, don't you think?"

"Yeah," she hissed, tightening her hold on Miriana's hair. She could feel her long, manicured nails scratching against her scalp.

"Let her go," he said, gesturing towards Selene. She instantly relinquished her hold and Miriana staggered forwards, fighting the urge to smooth her hair.

"Where did you get it?" he asked, his eyes cold.

"None of your business," she snapped.

He backhanded her, the slap of his hand against her cheek stinging like a bad sunburn. She stumbled backwards, clutching her cheek whilst the other demons let out low chuckles and Selene let out a shout of high pitched mirth.

"You always were a snotty little bitch," he hissed, "But don't worry, I'll beat that attitude right out of you."

He drove his fist into her stomach and she doubled over, coughing. He leaned down next to her, his hot breath washing over her ear, "Where's angel boy now, huh? Not such a fantastic saviour after all." he raised his fist to punch her again, the paused, his head cocked to one side as if he was listening for something.

Both Reuben and Miriana turned around in shock when of the demons holding Nate choked suddenly, black smoke pouring out of his mouth in great coils. He dropped to the floor, Embriel casually stepping over the body.

"Well angel boy may not be here," she said in a clear, carrying voice, "But I certainly am."

The second demon that had been holding Nate started forwards, but Embriel held out her hand and he crumpled to the floor like the other demon, smoke trickling out of his mouth and sinking into the ground. She turned to Selene, who shrieked in alarm, throwing her head back and opening her mouth so the demon inside the host escaped, rising into the night sky like a cloud borne on the wind. Reuben froze, his eyes flicking between Embriel and Miriana, and she could see the indecision in his eyes. Then, just as Selene had, he tipped his head back and with a long, drawn out cry, he left his handsome host, vanishing into the dark sky.

Embriel let out a loud sigh, "He's a persistent little bastard, isn't he?"

Miriana merely grunted in response, kneeling down to retrieve the knife from where Selene had dropped it on the floor. She carefully slid it back into her belt.

"Thank you," she said, turning to Embriel, "You keep showing up and saving my life."

"You don't need to thank me," Embriel said gently, "I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

She reached out and patted Miriana's shoulder, "Are you okay?"

"Er...Hello?" yelled Nate indignantly, slumped against the car, "Nobody asks me if I'm okay? I might have a friggin' concussion and a haemorrhaging stomach!"

Miriana rolled her eyes and walked over to the car, opening the door and pushing Nate inside, "Stop whining. We'll get to the nearest motel and we'll sort you out."

She slammed the door to shut off his stream of protestations and turned back to Embriel, "Thank you again. I owe you big time."

She went to climb into the driver's seat but Embriel stopped her, her slender hand on Miriana's arm, "Miriana, have you seen Castiel tonight?"

Her heart did its typical little back flip at the sound of his name. She had forgotten all about him and their blistering argument.

"I saw him a few hours ago, just after you left him," she replied, deciding not to disclose what had happened between the two of them.

"And you haven't seen him since?" she asked. Miriana wasn't entirely sure, but she was certain she could hear the slightest note of anxiety in her voice and see a spark of it in her dark green eyes.

"No," she said slowly, "Why?"

Embriel released her hand from her arm, giving her a weak smile, "No matter. Just go and get some rest."

Miriana wasn't going to let it drop that easily, "Has something happened to him?" She felt sick at the very prospect.

"No," Embriel said, but she wasn't convinced.

"If something has happened," she said, fighting to control the shake in her voice, "Promise me you'll tell me."

She placed both her hands on Miriana's shoulders, "Nothing has happened."

She paused for a few seconds before she turned away, "Alright."

"Look after yourself," she called softly, as Miriana slid into the driver's seat.

"Are you alright?" Nate asked as she started the engine, "You look really white."

She glanced in her rear view mirror as her car bounced down the road. There was no sign of Embriel.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she said eventually. She could only hope that everyone else was fine, too.


	2. I Cried For You

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter :) A big thanks to everyone who's left a review and a favourite or story alert, I'm really glad you liked the first chapter. I just hope I can keep it up through the rest of the story! :) Anyway, hope you enjoy :)_

Miriana bought a room at the first motel they came to, booking in under a false name. She had a nagging worry that Reuben and his new companion Selene would follow her, and she didn't want to make it easy for them.

She tended to the cut on Nate's forehead, cleaning the deep gash with antiseptic lotion and covering it with a bandage. He squirmed and protested until Miriana gave him a shot of vodka from her hip flask to try and take the edge of the pain and stop him whining. It worked; he shut up almost instantly. When she finished, he looked down at his wrinkled dusty clothes with a disgusted expression and announced that he needed a shower. As soon as she heard the clanking of the hot water pipes and the rushing noise of the water, she rummaged through her bag until she found her mobile. She dialled Dean's number, raising her mobile to her ear with shaking hands. She hadn't seen him since he had disappeared from Bobby's, and she was worried for him. What would he do when he learnt what Sam had done? What stupid decisions would he make when he learned his little brother was dead?

She waited until the phone rang to answer phone, then hung up and dialled his number again, telling herself that he had just missed her first call. But the second call went unanswered too. On the verge of tears she tried again, but this time she left a tearful message, hoping that Dean would eventually hear it, wherever he was.

She threw her phone onto the bed, frustrated, then sank onto the mattress, fighting tears. She fumbled for her hip flask and took a long swig, wincing as the alcohol burned down her throat. Sam was dead, Dean wasn't answering his mobile, and Cas was...well she didn't know where Cas was or what kind of state he was in. She needed information from someone, but she couldn't think of anyone who would know more than she did. She expected Bobby would be more in the dark than she was and Embriel hadn't seemed to know anything either, so that was the two most reliable sources out. AJ was dead, and she didn't know any other psychics. But, she thought, with a sudden bolt of realization, she did know a prophet.

At that moment, the door slammed back and Nate sauntered into the room, wearing a pair of boxer shorts and a baggy t-shirt, scrubbing his dark hair with a towel.

"Right, we're off, Nate," she said, picking up her bag, which she hadn't bothered to unpack, "Get a move on."

"What?" he said indignantly, "But I'm knackered!"

"Well that's alright you can sleep in the car," she said, grabbing her car keys, "Move. I have to talk to Chuck, that prophet."

"No," Nate said firmly, "I'm not sleeping in the car, it gives me neck ache."

"Nate for G-"

"And you," he said loudly, cutting across her, "Are exhausted. If you drive now, you'll crash. You look like the living dead, Miriana."

"Honesty is the best policy, thanks Nate," Miriana grumbled.

"The prophet dude can wait until morning," Nate said in a much gentler tone, "There's nothing you can do right now except get some sleep."

"But-" Miriana protested.

"Bed," Nate said in a firm voice.

Feeling completely frustrated about being bossed around by a teenager, she kicked off her boots and shrugged off her leather jacket, sliding herself up the mattress and resting her head against the pillow. She didn't want to change out of her shirt and jeans in case she got an emergency phone call in the middle of the night; she didn't want to be caught out in a tiny pair of sleep shorts and a threadbare t-shirt. She heard the creak of rusty bedsprings across the room as Nate sank onto the bed opposite her. A second later, there was a sharp click and the soft lamps in the room were extinguished, so the only light in the room was a vivid orange strip across the ceiling from the streetlamp outside.

"Night Miriana," Nate said, his voice slurred with tiredness.

"Night," she said softly.

She tried to close her eyes and relax, but she found her mind was buzzing with worry and it refused to let her sleep. She didn't feel like she had got any closure over Sam; she was still so unsure what had happened. She reached across and fumbled along the bedside table until she found her phone; she flipped it open and checked if she had any missed calls. It was a pointless exercise, as she already knew no one had rung her, otherwise she would have heard it ringing, but it made her feel better to check. She stared up at the dark ceiling, wondering where Lucifer was, what he was doing. She kept waiting for some kind of explosion or fire to come raining from the sky, but the world around her seemed eerily quiet. She would almost feel better is something did happen; anything was better than waiting around for what was surely inevitable.

Her mind wandered to Cas then, and she felt the ache of guilt surge up in her. She remembered every word she had said to them during their argument, and she regretted most of them. She always told herself she would treat him better, treat him with understanding, but every time it came to a situation that required her to be gentle with him, she never was. She didn't know what made her so cruel, but it was like she couldn't stop herself. It was so frustrating, being so close to someone she wanted so badly it hurt, and not having them. She knew realistically she couldn't have him, not whilst he was still an angel and under heaven's orders and she couldn't see that changing any time soon. She knew it wasn't his fault that he carried out heaven's often cruel plans; he didn't know how to do anything else. Two thousand years of indoctrination was not easy to undo, and she knew his loyalty to heaven left him torn between his duty and her. But she couldn't help but be selfish; she wanted him all to herself, away from the watchful eyes of his superiors.

The thoughts and worries chasing around her head exhausted her. She fought her heavy eyelids, but eventually she succumbed to a dreamless, restless sleep.

Miriana was up at five in the morning, hauling Nate out of bed and shoving him into the shower to wake him up and cut off the stream of swear words that he directed at her. Unsurprisingly, as soon as they were in the car, he fell straight back to sleep, his head resting against the window. She turned the radio down so as not to wake him and so she didn't have to listen to all the news reports of hurricanes, floods and freak accidents across the state. The coil of fear and anxiety returned in the pit of her stomach.

She reached Chuck's ramshackle house just before midday, parking her car opposite his house and shaking Nate roughly awake. There was an unfamiliar silver car parked on the dry grass next to Chuck's house, and no sign of movement within the house. She crossed the road carefully, pulling her gun out of her pocket and holding it by her hip. They crept up the steps as quietly as they could manage; Miriana keeping her eyes trained on the door as Nate quickly picked the lock so the door swung open into the cluttered hallway. He followed Miriana inside the hushed house.

One look inside the sitting room showed her that there had definitely been some sort of struggle. Furniture was overturned and fragments of glass and splintered wood crunched underneath her feet, and the walls were spattered with a dark, viscous liquid that looked horribly like blood. She took a few tentative steps forward into the kitchen when something closed across her chest, constricting her breathing.

Nate gave a shout behind her and she instantly drove her elbows into her attacker's stomach, which she instantly found was hard with muscle. She struggled for a few more seconds against the muscular arms against her chest, when a familiar voice rang out through the kitchen.

"Dean stop, it's Miriana," Sam said, panicked, "Dude, it's just Miriana and Nate."

The arms around her chest instantly relinquished their hold and she stumbled forwards. She stopped dead in front of Sam, her brain struggling to catch up with her eyes. She reached out with one hand and tentatively patted Sam's broad shoulder, just to test he wasn't some sort of illusion.

"I know you're glad to see me, Miriana, but you don't have to feel me up," Sam said, watching her carefully. Without a second's hesitation, she lifted her hand and slapped him around the side of the face, satisfied when her open palm slammed against his cheek, instantly reddening it.

"OW!" he yelled, clutching the side of his face, "Why do you always do that?"

"That is for starting the apocalypse," she snapped, "And this," she slapped him again, as hard as she could manage, "Is for not listening to me!"

Dean burst out laughing behind them, and Miriana rounded on him next, "And you!" she shouted angrily, drawing her arm back and slapping him too, "That is for not answering my phone calls!"

He clutched his face, looking shocked as she turned back to Sam.

"I thought...I thought you were dead," she said in a much gentler tone, "The explosion...it...it," she tailed off, throwing her arms around Sam's neck, forced to stand on her tiptoes to reach his neck. She had never been so happy to see the big stupid idiot in her whole life.

"I'm sorry, Miriana," he said, his voice muffled by her shoulder, "It's all my fault."

She stepped back, breaking his hold, "Look, let's not get into that okay? You're alive and in one piece and that's all that matters."

He frowned, "You really mean that?"

She paused for a second, scrutinizing him. Of course she was blisteringly angry; if he had listened to Dean and her, this would no doubt not have happened. Sam always thought he knew best, always thought the advice Miriana and Dean gave him was their attempt to control him. She did think he was weak for allowing himself to be manipulated by Ruby, for she was certain the demon had something to do with the beginning of the apocalypse. But after spending twenty four hours thinking the man she saw as her little brother was dead had changed her opinion on a lot of things.

"Of course I do," she said, thumping his shoulder. She turned back to Dean, only just noticing that Chuck was leaning against the kitchen cupboards, looking pale and a little bit battered.

"Oh, hey Chuck," she said. He gave her a little wave in response, although he didn't smile. He reached behind him and took a long swig of whisky, his hands shaking.

"What the hell happened here?" Nate asked suddenly, "And what the hell is that?"

Miriana followed Nate's finger to an elaborate sigil painted on the wall. She remembered Anna drawing one of them on the wall of that run down shack, the night the angels had come for her.

"We ran into a little trouble with Zachariah," Dean explained, his expression dark. Miriana felt her stomach flip over at the sound of his name. She had never met Castiel's heartless superior before, and she had a feeling she wouldn't ever want to.

"And they did this?" she asked, gesturing around at the devastation that was once Chuck's kitchen.

She saw Dean exchange a fleeting glance with Sam, "Not quite."

"What did then?"

Dean paused for a long second, as if he was deciding what to say, "It was an archangel."

Miriana frowned, "An archangel? Why?"

A heavy silence followed her questions, and Chuck took another long swig of whisky.

"Dean, what's going on?" she demanded.

"It's Cas, Miriana," he said gently, with the air of someone talking to a woman dying on her deathbed, "He's dead. The archangel killed him."

She looked around the kitchen, the spatters of blood on the walls and floor, and felt her stomach turn over, "What?"

"He brought me here," Dean said, standing in front of Miriana and placing both his hands on her shoulders, "To help me find Sam and try and stop him. But the archangel tethered to Chuck came."

She shifted her foot and felt something sticky beneath the sole of her boots; glancing down, she saw she was stood in a puddle of congealed blood. Her stomach flipped again.

"He was trying to help us Miriana," Dean said, patting her shoulder lightly, "But he couldn't fight off the archangel."

The tears hadn't started yet, but she could feel them bubbling behind her eyes. As soon she accepted the truth, they'd spill out like a dam had been broken inside of her.

"How...how did he...?" she tailed off, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

"Well, he sort of...he...erm..." Sam stumbled over his words, shuffling his huge frame awkwardly.

"He exploded," Chuck said in a deadpan voice.

Dean turned to Chuck, a bewildered expression on his face, his arms raised in a what-the-hell gesture.

"Dude, seriously!" he said in a furious voice.

She was very aware that Nate was hovering close behind her, as if he expected her to faint.

She raised quaking hands to gesture at the gory walls, "So this is..."

Dean just nodded, his eyes wary, as if like Nate he expected her to collapse. A hand flew to her mouth to stop the little sob that escaped, and she felt her eyes stinging. Her stomach was rolling over and over, and the bile was rising up her throat.

"Miriana-" Dean began, but she threw up her hands to cut him off.

"I just need a minute," she gasped, racing for the door.

She flung herself out of the front door and sprinted down the steps, barely making outside before she emptied the contents of her stomach onto the parched grass outside Chuck's house. She retched uncontrollably, clutching her stomach, her head throbbing. She turned her shaking hands over and saw there was a streak of thick, sticky blood across her palm, and she scrubbed her hand against the bricks of Chuck's house, the tears flowing down her face thick and fast. She slumped down onto the grass, coughing around the awful taste in her mouth. She crushed a hand over her mouth to muffle her sobbing, not wanting Sam or Dean to hear her crying.

She heard the sound of footsteps thudding down the steps outside Chuck's house and she instantly leapt to her feet, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Dean stopped a few paces away from her, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

"Miriana?" he asked tentatively.

She swallowed hard before she could trust herself to speak, "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Dean said softly, "You're not fine. I'm not into all this chick flick crap like Sam, but I know you well enough to see when your heart is breaking."

She shook her head, "I'm fine."

She moved past him, heading for the door, but he caught her arm in a tight grip, "You are not fine, and you can't just run away from this. He's dead and you're hurting but you just won't admit it."

"I don't...I can't..." she couldn't find the words for the pain. The ache in her chest was so intense she felt certain her heart was about to burst right out. She started to cry, although she tried so hard to stop the flow of tears.

"I know, I know," Dean soothed, pulling her into the protective circle of her arms, "It's gonna be alright."

"No," she said thickly through her tears, "No it's not. He's dead, Dean, and nothing feels like it's going to be alright again."

"It'll work out," he said haltingly.

"You should have heard what I said to him the last time I saw him, Dean. I was a bitch. I was so cruel to him, and all he was trying to do was help me. All her ever did was try to help me, and I just pushed him away. I just...just..." she couldn't carry on around the hitch in her chest.

"He...he...told me he loved me," she choked out, "And I never said it back. I never said it back and now I'm never going to get the chance."

She sobbed against his chest, soaking his shirt with salty tears. She heard the sound of footsteps, and then Dean softly said, "She needs a few minutes," and the footsteps retreated.

She stayed clutching Dean for a long minute, trying to stop the uncontrollable shaking of her body and trying to stem the flow of tears. After a little while, Dean stepped back.

"You need to get some rest," he said softly, "Go and book yourself into a motel room and give yourself some time alone. Nate can come with me and Sam if you want."

She shook her head, scrubbing the tears away from her eyes, "No, it's alright. He can get his own room next to mine. What about you and Sam? Don't you need some help with...you know...something?"

"We're just trying to keep our heads down for now," Dean replied, "There's nothing you can do except have some time to deal with this."

Miriana sniffed, giving him a weak smile, "You're being very good about this. I thought you'd be jumping for joy now he's gone. No self righteous dick in a trench coat, no more swooning Miriana."

Dean looked slightly shocked, "I wouldn't think that. Yeah, he could be a dick, but his heart was in the right place. And as for you swooning, it's better than you being completely alone. I suppose he wouldn't have been that bad for you."

All the guilt and grief rose up inside her again, and she had to hold her breath to stop herself from bursting into tears again.

"Tell Nate to come out, will you?" she asked, "I think I'll take your advice and get some time alone."

He nodded, then stopped forwards and hugged her tightly, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

"Look after yourself," he mumbled into her shoulder, "We'll see you soon."

He stepped back, patting her shoulder, then turned and disappeared back into the house. She crossed the road and slid back into her car, resting her head against the cool steering wheel, forcing herself to breathe deeply. She would be glad to get into a hotel room and cry until the tears ran dry.

She started when the door opened, instantly sitting up straight and calming herself when Nate eased himself into the passenger seat. She was aware he was watching her very closely, and she could see from the corner of his eye that his posture was incredibly tense.

"Are you okay?" he asked tentatively.

"Not really," she replied truthfully, "But I'll get there."

He reached across and squeezed the hand that was resting on the steering wheel, giving her a small smile. She tried to return it, but found she felt the burn of tears once again.

She drove as quickly as possible to the nearest motel, and bought separate rooms for her and Nate. When she reached her room, she closed the curtains to block out the early afternoon light. She looked hopelessly around the dark room, feeling completely empty. She didn't even have anything of his to remember him by; at least when Cristian died she had had all of his shirts and CD's and books to give her some comfort in her pain, but Castiel didn't even have any possessions. All she had to remember him by was a few memories of heated, stolen kisses and a few, all too brief conversations. The tears began to flow silently as she changed into a pair of old jeans and a tattered t-shirt, crawling into bed and pulling the covers over her head, allowing the grief to overwhelm her.

Castiel couldn't remember anything; just a burst of furious white light, a terrible, rending agony, then oblivion. Nothing but darkness and the sensation of nothing, just numbness.

But now he could slowly feel awareness coming back to him, along with his senses. He could feel cold, heard earth underneath him, hear the sound of leaves rustling in the wind and the noise of birds singing somewhere above his head. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly. There was a thick canopy of trees above him, and between the gaps in the leaves he could see snatches of sky, slowly fading from a powdery blue to a deep midnight colour, the first silvery stars beginning to emerge. The cold air bit at his exposed skin, but he felt warm beneath his vessels' clothing.

He sat up slowly, wincing when his abdomen ached in protest. He looked down at his vessel, surprised that the body was still in one piece. His clothes were clean too, no blood on his white shirt and no dirt on his suit pants. He stretched his muscles tentatively, checking that everything was still in working order. He put one hand over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his borrowed heart. He was definitely alive, and still in Jimmy's body.

Jimmy. He had completely forgotten about the soul of his vessel. He searched inside his head for the familiar weak flare of Jimmy's presence, but he felt nothing. Panicked, he concentrated even harder, thinking that Jimmy might have retreated far inside his own mind, stunned from the pain of his body being torn apart by the archangel. But not matter how hard he looked he found there was no-one else inside his head. He felt oddly isolated without the presence of his vessel, and the feeling was incredibly disconcerting. He had often relied upon Jimmy's human memories to help him through many awkward social situations, used the instincts of his vessel to talk to Miriana. The first time he had kissed her he had relied entirely on the memories buried in the flesh of his vessel to know where to hold her and how to move his lips against hers. Now he was entirely alone inside this borrowed body that had now become his, and he felt trapped, confined. At least there was a good possibility that Jimmy was in heaven, finally at peace.

He stood up slowly, testing out his stiff muscles. He stretched his wings behind him, rolling his shoulders, focusing on the feeling of tendons and muscles pulling tight over the bones. He was thankful his wings were still in one piece; he had felt them burst into agonizing streaks of pain when he faced off against the archangel, and he had been convinced they would be permanently damaged, even destroyed. But they were still intact, and as far as he could tell, still in working order.

He decided to contact heaven, as briefly as possible, to see if he could find out what had happened to Sam and Dean, although he already knew that Lucifer was free; his presence saturated everything around him. But he when he tried to contact his brothers and sisters, he was met with a wall of silence, so heavy and so absolute it felt almost like a physical force. He tried again, waiting for the familiar and comforting whispers of Enochian, but again there was nothing. Feeling incredibly frustrated, he gave up, focusing his attention instead on the whereabouts of Miriana. He cast his mind out, grateful that this particular power still worked, and instantly found Miriana's familiar coil of consciousness in amongst all the millions of people. He let out a long sigh of relief. She was still alive and completely safe as far as he could tell.

He cast his eyes around his surroundings; he had absolutely no idea where he was. The tall, dark tress looked completely alien, and his sharp ears couldn't pick up the sound of a road or any other sign of human habitation. He was literally in the middle of nowhere. He couldn't even begin to understand how he had returned from death, or who had returned him, or why. He had so many questions, and no answers, not even an inkling. And he had knowledge of the apocalypse that he could remember ever having before, as if when he had been resurrected someone had planted a seed of knowledge in his brain. He knew the true roles that Sam and Dean had to play; he knew protection sigils and charms that it would have taken him many years to learn. He wanted to talk to Miriana, hoping that she could make him feel better, ease the confusion and pain he felt. Her very presence was enough to soothe him.

Just as he was about to spread his wings to find Miriana, he instantly felt a surge of panic from someone, somewhere. He instantly followed the trace of emotion, right back to Dean Winchester. Sam was with him, in tremendous pain, and someone else, another angel whose presence he couldn't ignore. Zachariah. Feeling sick with fury, he instantly spread his wings, easily locating the lock up that once belonged to John Winchester. Miriana would have to wait, just for a little while.


	3. Since You've Been Gone

_Yay- we have the reunion between Cas and Miriana- I hope you guys like it. xMissBrightside mentioned that she couldn't read chapter 2 because she kept getting a message that says outdated URL. I know nothing about computers but I know I've experienced the same problem with several fanfictions I've tried to read- I kept trying and eventually I managed to read them. I think there might be a problem with the website itself, as obviously some of you have managed to read chapter 2 and I had no problems when I updated the chapter on my account. I don't how to fix it but if it keeps happening I guess I'll email fanfiction and let them know. Anyway I hope everyone manages to read this chapter and I hope whatever the problem is gets fixed. Anyway, a big thank you to everyone who has reviewed or left a favourite; I hope you're enjoying it so far, and I hope you like this chapter. :)_

Castiel lingered for a long time outside Miriana's motel room. He was almost afraid to talk to her. He couldn't forget the conversation they had had the last time he had seen her. Maybe she wouldn't want to see him again, maybe she was happy that he had died, glad he wasn't around to complicate her life anymore. He started forwards a few times, intending to knock on her door, but every time he did, he retreated back into the shadows, his courage deserting him. The odd ache started up in his stomach again, and he had the sudden irrational urge to bite his nails, for reasons he couldn't fathom. He would usually have asked Jimmy what to do in these sorts of situations, but there was no comforting presence to offer a few words of advice. He had always resurfaced every time Miriana had been close by, but there was just silence in his head now. No Jimmy, no angels, nothing. He guessed he would have to do this alone.

He silently ghosted across the car park, slipping between the rows of parked cars. He reached her door and stood outside, his raised fist hovering over the wood. He could hear the slightest sound of a television playing, and there was a chink of warm amber light between the curtains. Would she even want to see him, or would she just shut the door in his face? If he didn't try, he wouldn't know. Taking a deep breath, he knocked his fist firmly against the door a few times. It would be easier to materialize inside her room, but he was pretty certain she wouldn't appreciate the intrusion.

There was a moment of long silence, during which his stomach continued to ache and he fought to control his breathing. Maybe she was sleeping, and wouldn't hear the knock. Just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open.

He could instantly tell that she had been crying; her eyeliner was nothing but dark smudges, and her eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks still glistening on her cheeks. It was hard not to pull her into his arms, hard not to soothe the obvious distress she was in.

"Hello," he said cautiously.

Her eyes were as wide as dinner plates, huge in her bone white face, and they travelled up and down his body several times, as if she was trying to prove that he was still in one piece. She reached with one trembling hand and splayed her fingers across his chest, right over his heart. He tensed himself for the shouting that seemed inevitable, but when she spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.

"You...you're..." she stumbled over the words, "You...how are you...alive?"

"I'm not really sure," he replied truthfully.

He was horrified to see her eyes fill up with tears, "I thought...I thought I'd lost you," she whispered.

"It's alright," he said softly, "I'm here now."

She let out a loud sob and threw her arms around his neck, soaking the collar of his shirt with tears. He stood stock still for a few seconds whilst she sobbed against him, not entirely sure what to do. He hadn't ever experienced Miriana crying quite so hard and throwing herself on him; he didn't know how to deal with Miriana and her swinging emotions even with Jimmy's presence in his head, but now he was completely at a loss. He paused for a few seconds, then hesitantly put his arms around her, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles across her back. Her body shook with force of her sobs. He had hoped their reunion might have been a little happier.

"It's alright," he repeated, "Don't cry. I'm sorry."

She pulled back, wiping a hand across the back of her eyes, "What are you sorry for?" she asked.

He frowned, "You're upset."

"That's not your fault," a few more tears rolled down her cheeks, "I should be sorry."

He frowned again, "Why?"

"The stuff I said to you, before...you know," she said quietly, "I was so cruel...I didn't...didn't mean to..."

She started to cry again, and he pulled her back into his arms; it felt like the natural thing to do.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured against her hair, "I deserved it."

She pulled away again, "No you didn't. You didn't deserve any of it, you were just trying to help, and I just...I was so horrible, I didn't-"

He sensed she was about to burst into tears once again, so he lifted his hands and cupped her face, swiping the tears away from her cheeks with his thumbs. Her skin was even softer and warmer than he remembered.

"Don't," he said forcefully, "Can't we just forget it?"

She nodded, "Yeah, of course."

He took a step back, dropping his hands from her face. He knew he should go; there were still many things he needed to do, but he didn't want to leave. He felt like he had spent a lifetime without her.

"Are...are you going?" she asked, her voice thick with tears.

"I should," he said carefully.

"Don't," she said quickly, catching his hand between her fingers, "Please."

It was impossible to ignore the pleading look in her eyes, "I have so many things to ask you."

He sighed heavily, "Alright."

She gave him a weak smile, then swept over to the sofa in the corner of the room and curled up on it. He stood awkwardly, unsure of what to do.

She patted the cushions next to her, "You are allowed to sit down, you know."

He haltingly made his way over to the couch, settling down against the cushions next to her. The television continued to mutter away to itself, unnoticed by either of them.

"So...errm...how are you back?" she asked.

"I don't know," he admitted, "I just woke up in the middle of nowhere."

"Do you remember anything?"

"I remember the archangel," he replied, "A burst of white light, then nothing, just darkness."

"Did...did it hurt?" she asked tentatively, "When the archangel came?"

He frowned, looking down at his hands, "Yes. It was the worst agony I've ever felt."

She reached out and touched his hand, gently sliding her slender fingers over his knuckles, "Cas...I'm sorry."

Her hands felt so comfortable over his, the cool impress of her silver rings and the delicate lines on her palms. The hairs on his arms stood on end at her light touch, the slightest shiver running down his spine. He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sensation.

"It was brief, at least," he continued, grateful when she removed her hand from over his, "At least I know who was sent to kill me."

"Who?"

"Raphael," he replied, trying to keep that little bit of fear out of his voice. Raphael had always frightened him; he had the most stormy and furious countenance of any of the angels in the garrison. He carried out destruction with a sense of delight that had always sickened Castiel. He was callous and cruel, worse than Zachariah in many ways, and he had no desire to meet with him again, although he had the feeling that now he was heaven's most wanted, he would have no choice. He couldn't imagine Raphael would be happy that the angel he had reduced to nothing but ash was suddenly back to life.

"The archangel?" she asked, surprise colouring her tone.

"Yes," he said heavily.

"And you went up against him, to help Dean? To help all of us?"

"Yes," he said, not entirely sure what the tone in her voice was.

She shook her head, almost in disbelief, "You're incredible. I could never be that brave."

"You are brave," he said, catching her gaze, "Far braver than I have ever been."

"I don't think so," she whispered, "I don't have your strength."

He leaned a little closer to her, unconsciously breathing in her perfume, "Yes you do. You just can't see it."

He noticed that her eyes flickered down to his lips and back to his eyes, and he leaned back instantly, putting a decent amount of space between them. The atmosphere between them simmered with tension and was thick with unsaid words.

She drew in a shaky breath, "So...do you know who brought you back?"

He dropped his gaze instantly, unsure of what to tell her. Of course he had his theories, but he didn't want to tell her, and he hardly expected her to agree with him, and he didn't want to argue with her, not considering he had only just seen her.

"I think so," he said hesitantly, "But I don't think you'll believe me."

She laughed softly, "I can believe a lot of things."

"God," he blurted out, "I think it was God."

A tense silence met his words, and eventually Miriana said, "God? You're sure?"

"I didn't think you would believe me," he said disconsolately.

"No, Cas, it's not that," she said quickly, her head reaching out to grasp his knee, "I know I'm not a believer, but I've had to change my views on a few things. I refused to believe in angels until I met you. And he's your father, Cas. I have to respect that. It's just, why would he?"

"I...I don't know."

"Not that I'm not glad he did," she said, giving his knee a gentle squeeze, "Of course I am. I'm just worried something else is happening here."

He tensed when her fingers splayed out across his knee, the warmth of her hands permeating straight through the fabric of his trousers.

"Errm...I just remembered something I must do," he said, leaping to his feet, breaking her hold. He thought he saw hurt flash across his eyes briefly before she covered it up.

"What?"

"You need protection," he explained.

"From demons?"

"Angels," he replied, "And not just Zachariah and the others. Lucifer is free and he's circling his vessel. When he takes him, his power will increase tenfold."

He reached out and placed his palm flat against her chest, focusing on carving the intricate sigils into her ribs, on the feeling of the bone scratching and grating.

"Oww!" she shrieked, clutching her chest when he released his hand, "What the hell did you just do?"

"I carved an enochian protection sigil into your ribs," he explained calmly.

She lifted the neckline of her top, glancing down at her body underneath, as if checking for any signs of damage, "Are you sure?"

"Yes, very sure," he said, frowning.

"Well...uh...thanks I guess."

"You're very welcome," he said formally.

An awkward silence descended again, and Miriana shifted from foot to foot, "Errmm...don't you have to go back to heaven, or something?"

He felt a little bolt of sharp pain race through him, "No."

"You mean they're leaving you alone for a change? It's a miracle!" she exclaimed, beaming widely at him.

The smile faded from her face when she studied his expression, "What's wrong, Cas?"

"I...I can't go back to heaven, Miriana. I'm cut off from heaven and its power; part of my punishment. I'm now heaven's most wanted. Aside from Satan of course."

"Oh God," she whispered, "I'm so sorry. And it's all our fault, me and Dean...if I hadn't..."

Panicked that she was about to burst into tears again, he took her hands between his own, "This is not your fault," he implored, "Any choices I made were my own, and I must face the consequences."

"But you've lost everything," she said, her eyes glossy with tears again. He wondered how he could ever get the flow of tears to stop.

"Not everything," he murmured, catching one of the tears that threatened to overflow and run down her cheeks, "I still have you."

"Thank God," she said, her voice shaking. A few tears glittered on her eyelashes and on her cheeks, and he fought the urge to kiss them away.

She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes, brushing away the tears, "What are you going to do now, if you can't go back to heaven?"

She was asking so many difficult questions tonight. He hadn't honestly thought about what he would do now he longer had the refuge of heaven to return to. It wasn't like he had a home anymore; he had been cast out with nowhere to go.

"I just I'd go and find somewhere quiet to sit until I'm needed," he replied.

She glanced around the room, "I don't know about you, but I reckon it's pretty quiet in here. Why don't you just...stay here?"

He felt an odd burst of something warm and comforting flare up inside her chest at her words, "You wouldn't mind my presence?"

She laughed softly, and he was enchanted by the sound of it, "No, I reckon I can put up with you, as long as you let me watch T.V."

He glanced at the odd contraption in the corner of the room, which had continued to chatter away to itself, "I have no desire to watch anything on the..." he took a second to remember the word, "Television."

"Well, good." She said, flopping back down onto the sofa and stretching. He followed her, sitting down stiffly, unable to get rid of the tension that was pent up inside his body.

Miriana settled down to watch some sitcom called 'Friends' which had no discernible plot that he could fathom and a lot of jokes and sarcasm that seemed to pass right over his head. Miriana seemed amused though; every now and then she would let out a little muffled laugh against the pillow she was cuddling, and the sound of it made his heart skip a few beats. He wished she would laugh a bit more often.

The fell into a comfortable silence, although he found that he couldn't relax quite as much as Miriana, who was curled up like a cat next to him. It didn't feel right to slouch; he was used to a ramrod posture. It was the sign of a good soldier; ready for anything.

Miriana seemed to have noticed, and she glanced over at him with a slight smile dancing around her lips, "Relax. I'm not going to kick you out."

He gave her a nervous twitch of his lips in response, and tried to relax his muscles, but found they wanted to stay tense and wired, as if he waiting for an attack. Her closeness seemed to be interfering with his thought processes and his heart was pounding far too quickly considering he was inactive. He was worried there might be something wrong with his newly acquired body, although he couldn't seem to find anything.

He risked a few glances at Miriana, who was leaning against the arm of the sofa, her head resting on her hand. The bright glare from the television gleamed in her wide dark eyes and picked out the subtle myriad of shades in her glossy hair. He wondered why he had never noticed how shapely her lips were, or how wide and pretty her eyes were, framed by long soft eyelashes. Maybe it was all the eyeliner she usually wore.

He wasn't quite sure what the situation between them was. It was impossible to forget the argument they had had barely a day ago, but it seemed the sight of him newly resurrected had knocked all thought of it out of her head. She wondered if she remembered what he had confessed to her; after so long of wanting to say it he had finally told her he loved her, and she hadn't returned the sentiment. He didn't know very much about human relations, but he guessed this was not a good thing. He had returned to earth feeling changed, like he was trapped and confined in a prison of flesh and bone, ostracized and cut off from heaven. He could already feel his powers beginning to fade away, feel his grace fizzling away in his blood, his angelic senses dulling. But his feelings for her hadn't changed or faded in any way. In contrast, he felt certain they had strengthened, now that he had faced death and the prospect of never seeing her again. The ache of longing and desire simmered and bubbled inside him, uncomfortable and harrowing.

He turned his mind away from her, returning his attention back to the television and the sitcom, which appeared to be nearing an end. He still failed to understand; it seemed two thousand years of life as an angel couldn't help him grasp the plot of human dramas.

"Miriana," he said, suddenly breaking the quiet, "I do not understand the plot of this show. This character..." he squinted at the screen, trying to remember the name, "Chandler seems to-"

He turned to look at her, and noticed that she hadn't turned her head to listen to him. Instead, her head was resting against the arm of the sofa, her eyes closed, and her expression peaceful. Her chest rose and fell steadily, and every so often her eyelashes would flutter as she dreamed. He stood up quietly, intending to turn off the chattering television so it wouldn't wake her. Confused, he fumbled along the buttons, wincing when he hit a button that made the volume rocket up suddenly.

"Cas," she mumbled sleepily from behind him, "What are you doing?"

"I was trying to turn this device off," he explained, "But I appear to have hit the wrong button."

She batted his hand away gently from the controls, easily finding the button, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep."

"I don't mind," he said, "I should leave anyway."

She stifled a yawn, "If you're sure. You don't have to."

"You need to get some rest," he said soothingly, "I'll leave you to it."

He turned to leave, but she caught his arm before he left, "Goodnight, Cas."

She leaned up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips very softly against his cheek, pressing herself against him for the briefest of seconds. He held himself very still, hardly daring to breathe. The ache of longing in his chest gave a painful flare.

"Goodnight," he choked out, turning to leave as fast as he could, hoping she hadn't seen the burning blush in his cheeks.


	4. It's All Your Fault

_Hi guys, hope you all enjoy this chapter :) A big thanks to everyone who's left a review or favourite, I hope you guys are still enjoying it and it's meeting your expectations :) On a random note, has anyone seen the new Christopher Nolan film Inception? Oh my God, most confusing film I've ever seen. I mean, what the hell is a dream within a dream within a dream? I came out of feeling completely confused- I'm still not sure if I'm actually dreaming right now. Yeah, it's one of those films that really makes you think. Anyway- hope you enjoy! :)_

Miriana was roused from sleep by an aggravating noise, a high pitched ringing that was uncomfortable on her ears. She rolled over in the tangled sheets, fumbling along the cool wood of the side table until she found her mobile.

"Hello?" she said groggily into the mouthpiece.

"Miriana?" asked Dean's voice.

"Oh, hey Dean," she said, stifling a yawn, "What's up?"

"We rang and left messages but you didn't answer," Dean said shortly, "its Bobby. He's uh...he's in a pretty bad way."

Miriana sat bolt upright, feeling suddenly very awake and very sick, "Bobby? What happened?"

"It was demons, Miriana," Dean replied, "And he's got a damaged spinal cord and the doctors...well they say he won't walk again."

"Where are you?" she asked, swallowing back the acid taste of fear.

"Our sister of Mercy Hospital," Dean replied.

"Give me half an hour and I'll be there," she said, kicking her way unceremoniously out of the covers.

"Alright," Dean said.

Just before he was about to hang up, she quickly blurted out, "Look I'm really sorry I didn't answer Dean it's just I -I'mreally-"

Dean cut off the stream of blurred together words, "Look, Miriana, don't worry about it. It's fine."

"Alright," she said quietly, "Thanks."

She hung up the phone with shaking hands and threw open the door to the bathroom, hastily showering and dressing in skinny jeans and a striped woolly jumper to keep out the chill that had descended. The happy, contented mood Cas's sudden reappearance had instilled in her had been punctured completely, leaving her anxious and full of fear all over again. Her hands were shaking, and her stomach kept flipping over and over, much as it had done back at Chuck's house.

She shoved a hastily written note under Nate's door, deciding to let him have a lie in, and drove her car to the hospital that Dean had told her over the phone.

She asked for Robert Singer at the reception desk and followed the nurse's instructions through sterile, cold corridors and past countless harrowed looking nurses and doctors. As she approached Bobby's room a doctor came sweeping from the room, looking incredibly stressed and muttering something about a 'stupid, stubborn, fool'. Sam was stood in the doorway of the room, almost taking up the whole height and breadth with his huge frame. She patted him on the shoulder.

"Hey," she glanced into the room, taking in Bobby slumped in the wheelchair, "Oh my god," she breathed.

She gestured with a shaking finger at the metal frame of the wheelchair, "Dean didn't tell me this! What the hell happened?"

Sam shook his head sadly, "We got ambushed by demons. Meg and a load of others."

"Meg?" she asked, surprised, "You mean that demon that kidnapped your dad back in Salvation?"

She had only ever had the misfortune to run into Meg once, at Bobby's house, when they had exorcised her back to hell. She had heard plenty of bad things about her through the demon hunting grapevine back when she had been at large, hounding the Winchesters and their dad all across America. She had tried to track her a few times, but had always found her almost impossible to locate.

"Yeah," Sam muttered, "She's back with a vengeance it seems."

"So Meg did this to him?" she asked, gesturing at Bobby's defeated looking figure.

"No, not exactly," Sam replied, "They ambushed us, and one of them was possessing Bobby. The demon, it tried to kill Dean, stab him with a knife, but...I dunno, somehow Bobby must have fought the demon and turned the knife on himself. He stabbed himself in the shoulder but it caught his spinal cord. The doctors are saying he'll never walk again."

Miriana rubbed her aching temples, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her shoulders, "Oh Jesus. How many more people are going to get hurt, Sam?"

His green eyes were dark with sorrow, "I know."

They fell into a depressing silence, the both of them watching Bobby in the chair, staring disconsolately out of the window at the tops of the trees that were just visible over the windowsill.

"There is some good news," Sam said, his tone a little brighter, "Cas is back."

"Yes I know," Miriana said, "He visited me last night."

"Who did?" said Dean's voice loudly from behind them, making Miriana jump.

"Cas," Sam answered for Miriana.

"Did he now?" Dean said in a suggestive tone, "Anything...interesting happen?"

Miriana glowered at him, "Shut up, Dean."

Sam looked between the two of them, a curious expression on his face. She suddenly remembered that Sam knew nothing of her relationship with Cas, and unless Dean opened his big mouth, she intended to keep it that way. She wasn't entirely sure what was happening between the two of them, and she didn't want Dean to keep dropping innuendo at every available opportunity. It wasn't that anything serious had really happened...well apart from him declaring his love for her, but she was choosing not to remember that at this particular time.

Dean instantly covered up the awkward moment, "How is he? It's been like a day or so now." Sam just shook his head in response.

"I gotta cheer him up. Maybe I'll give him a back rub," Dean said in a thoughtful voice.

"I don't think he'd appreciate that to be honest," Miriana muttered.

"Well what, then?" Dean snapped.

Sam sighed heavily, shifting his massive frame against the door, "Look guys, we might have to wrap our heads around the fact that Bobby might not just bounce back this time."

Dean exchanged a long, worried look with Miriana, who said, "Can't we just...think of something else? I can't deal with this right now."

She gestured at the wide, thin brown envelopes that Dean was carrying, "What are those?"

"Went down to radiology," Dean said, pulling a thin black object from the envelope, "Got some glamour shots."

He handed the thin object, which Miriana realized was an X-ray result, to Sam, who regarded it with wide eyes.

"Let's just say the doctors are baffled," Dean said, as Sam lifted the paper in front of his eyes.

"Holy crap," Sam breathed.

"Yeah well Cas carved you one, too," Dean said.

Miriana nudged Sam's arm, "Hey, what is that?"

He passed the paper to Miriana, "It's this protection sigil Cas carved into our ribs; it supposed to protect us from angels, including Lucifer."

"Yeah I know," she said, handing it back to Dean, who returned it to the envelope, "He gave me one too."

"He did?" Dean said in a surprised tone.

"Yes," Miriana said acidly, "It may come as a shock to you Dean, but some people actually care about my safety."

He opened his mouth to protest, looking furious, but he was cut off by the sound of Sam's mobile ringing shrilly.

Sam dug in his pocket and pulled free his mobile, "Hello? Castiel?"

Miriana and Dean shared a surprised glance, "Speak of the devil," Dean muttered.

"Our sister of Mercy hospital," said Sam in a hesitant voice, "Why, what are you-Cas?"

He glanced at the phone, the sighed heavily and returned it to his pocket. Miriana briefly wondered how he had got Sam's number and if he had hers.

In under a minute he appeared, sweeping gracefully down the corridor.

"Cell phone, Cas?" Dean asked, "Since when do angels need to reach out and touch someone?"

He gave Dean and exasperated look, "You're hidden from angels now, all angels," he said, with the tone of an aggravated parent, "I won't be able to simply just-"

"Enough foreplay," Bobby suddenly growled, "Get over here and lay your damn hands on."

"Get healing," Bobby snapped, when Cas didn't move.

"Now," he grumbled.

"I can't," Cas said, and Miriana could detect the slightest hint of apology in his tone.

Bobby's face darkened, and he wheeled his chair towards them, "Say again."

Cas pushed past them, "I'm cut off from heaven, much of heaven's power. Certain things I can do, certain things I can't."

"You're telling me you lost your mojo just in time to get me stuck in this trap the rest of my life?" Bobby thundered furiously.

"I'm sorry," Cas said quietly. He may seem so cold and unconcerned, but Miriana knew perfectly well he meant it. She knew him well enough now.

"Shove it up your ass," Bobby growled darkly, wheeling his chair around so his back was to them. Miriana sighed heavily, "Well that went well."

"At least he's talking now," Dean muttered in her ear.

"I heard that," Bobby snapped, and Dean rolled his eyes at Miriana.

"I don't have much time," Cas said briskly, "We need to talk."

"Alright," Dean said.

"Your plan to kill Lucifer," Cas began.

"Yeah, you wanna help?"

"No," Cas said firmly, "It's foolish. It can't be done."

Dean pulled a face, "Thanks for the support," he grumbled.

"But I believe I have the solution," Cas continued, "there is someone, besides Michael, strong enough to take on Lucifer. Someone strong enough to stop the apocalypse."

"Who's that?" Sam asked. Miriana knew the answer before he said it, and she knew it wouldn't go down well, especially with Dean.

"The one who resurrected me and put you on that airplane. The one who started everything. God. I'm going to find God."

He looked enthusiastic, Miriana thought. Well, as enthusiastic as Cas got. She didn't want to see him get shot down in flames by Dean and his surly attitude.

Dean took a long pause, then he swept over to the door and slammed it shut, "God?"

"Yes," Cas said, sounding frustrated.

"God?" Dean asked again, clearly in disbelief.

"Yes," Cas said again, exasperated, "He isn't in heaven, he has to be somewhere."

Dean smirked, and Miriana could tell he was about to make a smart-arse comment, "Try New Mexico, I hear he's on a tortilla."

He paused for a second, staring at the floor, thinking hard. "No, he's not on any flatbread," he said, genuine confusion in his voice. Miriana fought the urge to laugh. He couldn't possibly get any cuter.

Dean scrunched his eyes shut in exasperation and heaved a heavy sigh, "Listen, chuckles, even if there is a God, he is either dead and that's the generous theory-"

"He is out here Dean," he said firmly, the conviction and determination in his voice impossible to ignore.

"Or," Dean continued as if Castiel hadn't spoken, "He's up and kicking, and doesn't give a rats ass about any of us."

He said nothing to this, but simply squared his shoulders, drawing himself up a little taller.

"I mean look around you man, the world is in the toilet," Dean said striding across, the room, "We are literally at the end of days here, and he's off somewhere drinking booze out of a coconut, all right?"

Miriana wanted to slap Dean and tell him to stop; she admittedly agreed with everything Dean said, but it was Cas's father they were talking about; or at least what he thought was his father. Miriana was still not entirely sold on the whole concept. Despite this, Dean would never stand for anyone talking about John like that. She saw his jaw tense as hard as heard as iron, his blue eyes as cold and dark as icy arctic seas.

"Enough!" he snapped, and Miriana saw a little bit of that angelic power flash through the human facade, the power that had always scared the crap out of her every time he let it leak through.

"This is not a theological argument. Its strategic," he continued, "With God's help, we can win."

"It's a pipe dream, Cas," Dean said in a cold voice.

He took a step closer, right up to Dean, his eyes darkening to the colour of the sky before midnight, "I killed two angels this week. Those were my brothers. I'm hunted. I rebelled and I did it, all of it, for you. And you failed. You and your brother destroyed the world, and I lost everything, for nothing."

Miriana felt sick with a sudden flash of guilt. He may be directing his fury at Dean, but she had the distinct feeling some of this anger was meant for her. He had been dragged back to heaven and gone through god knows what torture for her, put up with all her fury and swinging emotions and now he was ostracized from heaven and all his family because of her and her righteous anger. And she hadn't confessed her feelings, even though she wanted to so badly she ached. Last night at her motel room, although she had tried to feel relaxed at his sudden resurrection, she had never wanted anyone so badly in her life. Her body hummed with tension every time he was near, but she didn't know what to do. She couldn't imagine he would want to touch her any more, let alone be with her the way she wanted him to. She didn't want to force herself on him now. He had other, more important things than her to think about. But it didn't stop the wanting that coiled in her stomach, along with the guilt.

She glanced at Sam, who was staring at the dull grey tiles on the floor as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"So keep you opinions to yourself," he finished in an undertone, his gravelly voice rougher than normal, like steel scraping over steel.

Miriana shifted uncomfortably in the corner of the room, feeling certain the heat of his barely controlled anger would sear the skin from her bones. His eyes flicked over her for a brief second, and none of the anger faded from them. She shivered.

"You didn't drop in just to tear us a new hole," Bobby said, "What is it you want?"

He forcibly removed his eyes away from Miriana, who had dropped her gaze, and switched them to Bobby instead, "I did come for something. An amulet?"

"An amulet?" Bobby parroted in a confused tone, "What kind?"

"Very rare, very powerful," he replied, "It burns hot in God's presence; it'll help me find him."

"Like...God EMF?" Sam asked hesitantly. Cas gave a brief nod in response.

"Well I don't know," Bobby said shortly, "I got nothing like that."

"I know," he said matter of factly, "You don't."

He glanced meaningfully at Dean, who didn't respond for a long second, until Cas very deliberately glanced at the necklace that Dean always wore slung around his neck. Miriana sighed inwardly. Dean would never give that necklace up; not considering it was Sam who gave it to him at Christmas when they were both little more than kids.

Dean followed his gaze down to the tiny bronze amulet, "What this?" he asked in a disbelieving tone.

"May I borrow it?" Cas asked in a forcibly polite tone.

"No," Dean barked, possessively closing his calloused fingers around the amulet.

"Dean, give it to me," he demanded. Dean turned to Sam and then Miriana, looking furious, but she simply shrugged in response. She had the feeling that if Dean didn't give it to him, he would take it anyway, even if that meant leaving Dean unconscious.

He glared at Cas, then slowly reached down and pulled the leather string up and over his head. "Alright I guess," he muttered, clutching it in his hand.

He hesitantly held it out, but before Cas could so much as touch it, he pulled it high out of his reach. "Just...don't lose it," he demanded.

He yanked it out of Dean's hands, holding it carefully, reverently.

Dean shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, "Great. Now I feel naked."

"I'll be in touch," Castiel said quietly. He glanced across at Miriana, his eyes suddenly softening, but still intense. She felt her heart begin to hammer against her ribs; she felt pinned to the wall by the force of his gaze. She breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he vanished on the spot, leaving her weak. The slightest breeze of his passing stirred her hair.

"When you find God tell him to send legs!" Bobby yelled aloud to thin air.

At that second, Bobby's mobile rang, shrilly cutting through the tense silence.

He flipped it open, "Hello?"

Miriana could hear shouting on the other end of the phone line, along with the hiss of static. "I can't hear you," Bobby said loudly into the phone.

"Where are you?" he asked, pressing the phone closer to his ear as if that would make the reception clearer.

"Colora-Colorado? River Pass, Colorado? Rufus? You there Rufus?"

Miriana heard the tinny, sharp staccato noise of gunfire on the other end of the phone line, then silence.

Bobby turned to look at them, panic evident across his features.

"River Pass, huh?" Dean said, "Sam, load up the car."

"Oh great," Miriana muttered, "I have the feeling I'm going to get shot today."

* * *

It seemed to take a surprisingly short time to reach the signs that directed them to River Pass, even though they had driven back to Miriana's motel before they left to tell Nate where they were going, then had to wait for a full fifteen minutes whilst Nate and Miriana argued about whether or not Nate should come somewhere so dangerous. Eventually Miriana had caved, more due to the fact that Dean had huffed impatiently and made a very obvious show of annoyance than Nate's insistence.

"River Pass," Nate muttered, gesturing out of the window to a small, battered yellow sign that was just visible through the thick covering of leaves from the trees. There were thick trees on either side of the small dirt road, muting almost all the sunlight until only a few thick beams of light had managed to penetrate through the thick foliage.

Ahead, she saw the Impala's break lights flash on, and she touched her own brakes gently until she pulled to a stop. Both Dean and Sam clambered out of the car, and Miriana followed them as they wandered down the road. It was only once she was past the Impala that she saw the reason for the disruption. The bridge had completely crumbled away, great metal struts laid bare, huge pieces of concrete lying in the river. Dean stepped to the edge of the bridge's remains and gave a rock a frustrated kick, so it skittered down into the rocky riverbed underneath.

Miriana sighed heavily, "Oh terrific."

"We're gonna have to find another way," Dean stated.

"No shit, Sherlock," Miriana muttered, which earned her a sharp glare from Dean.

"There is no other way," Sam said, "This is the only bridge into town."

"Rufus was right, the demons have got this place locked down," Dean said.

Miriana peered down over the edge of the bridge, "Well, it looks we're going to have to get our feet wet. Nate, get the shotgun from the boot."

Nate grumbled something about 'slave labour' but did as he was told, retuning clutching a shotgun for each of them and a canister of rock salt rounds.

Miriana slid down the slab of concrete that was lying on a slant, landing smoothly in the shallow water. Nate followed her slightly less gracefully, splashing her and soaking the bottom of his jeans.

"What?" he muttered at Miriana's indignant look.

Miriana set off the across the river, followed closely by Sam and Dean. When she reached the shore she turned to face them.

"We should split up," she suggested, "There could be people in trouble all over the town."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Sam said in a hesitant voice, "I can't get a signal on my cell and if something happens..."

"We'll be fine," Miriana said firmly, gesturing between Nate and herself.

"I'm not bothered about you," Dean said loudly, "We might need you two to cover our asses."

"I'm sure you'll manage," Miriana said acidly, setting off up the slight incline that led into a dense forest.

"How will we know where you are?" Sam called.

Miriana turned and sighed heavily, "If I'm not back by tomorrow morning, then I'm probably dead, and you can leave without me."

"That's not funny," Sam shouted back, "Miriana? Miriana!"

She rolled her eyes and carried on walking, waving to Sam and Dean as she left.

"Shouldn't we stick with them?" Nate asked nervously.

"Not nervous are you?" Miriana asked, glancing at him sideways. She wished he hadn't insisted on coming; she found she couldn't concentrate on the hunt whenever Nate was around; she was so worried for his safety. She hated putting him anywhere close to danger.

"No," he said hastily, "We just might need their help, that's all."

After about fifteen minutes of walking through the dense green world of the forest, she saw a break in the trees ahead, revealing a wide road, bordered by neat shrubs and conifer trees. It was horribly quiet; far too quiet in Miriana's opinion. There was no sound of cars or children playing in the neat gardens of the houses that lined the road. She kept her eyes trained for movement, the flash of black eyes. When she reached the road and looked down it, she saw the damage to the town was greater than she had anticipated. There were two cars blocking the road, their bonnets smashed together, the metal crinkled like screwed up paper, the front windscreens covered in a fine spiders web of cracks. There was something thick, viscous and dark red crawling down the faded red paint of one of the cars, and Miriana could smell the harsh tang of petrol, which was spilled across the road in a rainbow oil slick. Further down the road, she could see a car lying on its side, a few small orange flames licking around the flame. The houses on either side of them were empty, the windows dark and cool, like blank, staring eyes. There was a liquor store to the left of them, the door swinging wide open in the slight breeze, the glass shattered, smashed bottles lying discarded on the concrete, bleeding alcohol onto the pavement. There was a long dark smear of blood leading around the back of the store, as though someone had dragged a body. Further inspection showed small, white grains scattered all around the entrance to the liquor store and a few plastic cases. Miriana knelt and scraped her fingers across the ground.

"Salt rounds," she mused out loud, "There are other hunters here."

"You reckon?" Nate asked.

She nodded, getting to her feet, "Let's keep walking."

They carefully sidestepped the two crashed cars and continued down the road, cautiously approaching the burning car. It was only once they had passed the car that she saw the body lying across the road, spread eagled across the concrete, blood streaming from his head.

She swept over instantly, pressing her fingers to the man's neck. There was a weak pulse, fast and rapid.

"He's alive," Miriana said to Nate, "Go and check that store see if there's-"

And that second there was a loud booming crack right next to Miriana's head, so loud it almost deafened her. She screamed and ducked, lowering her head, catching sight of a small metal case next to her; a bullet. She knew that sharp cracking noise. She had heard it so many times in her life it was unmistakeable. Someone was firing at her.

"Nate, get down!" she yelled as her cousin raced to help her. He froze on the spot, only moving when a bullet thumped into the ground right by his feet. He threw himself behind the burning car, keeping his distance from it so the low flames didn't burn him. She scrambled to her feet and followed him, hurling herself onto the ground next to him.

"What the hell is happening?" he growled, "I thought Sam and Dean said it was demons! Since when do they use guns?"

"I don't know," Miriana hissed back, "Let's just get somewhere we can hole up."

There were a few more cracks, and a few more bullets tinkled against the concrete. She waited until everything went quiet and then edged over to the end of the car, glancing around the corner. There was a house across from them with its front door hanging wide open; she calculated if they moved fast enough they could easily get inside the house and avoid the gunfire. She motioned with her hand to Nate, gesturing at the house. He nodded curtly, dropping into a crouch and racing across the battered front garden. Miriana followed him, keeping low so the shooters wouldn't see her over the hedge. Nate reached the porch, Miriana a few seconds behind him. Just as she stepped foot on the wooden steps she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision; a black eyes demon swept from the side of the house, a shotgun raised to his shoulder.

Everything seemed to go in slow motion; he was far too close for him not to miss her. She saw his finger squeeze the trigger, saw the bullet leave the gun with a flash of pale orange light and drill straight towards her head. She didn't have time to move; it was heading towards her far too quickly.

_I knew I was going to get shot, _she thought bitterly.

Just before the bullet hit her she felt something heavy slam against her chest, pinning her to the concrete, driving all the breath from her lungs.


	5. This Is War

_Hey! Okay, these are going to be the last chapters for about two weeks, because I'm going to Florida tommorow! Wooo! I'm so excited; I'm going to the Harry Potter themepark, which is a pretty huge deal for me, cos I've loved Harry Potter since I was about seven. Anyhoo, I'll update as soon as I can when I get back, and I've updated two chapters so I leave you with more to read than usual. :) A big thanks to anyone who left a review or a favourite, I really appreciate all your comments and they always spur me to write more. Hope you enjoy this chapter and the next one, and I'll be back in two weeks! :) :)_

She kicked and struggled against the crushing weight that had her pinned painfully hard against the cold ground, wincing when she heard the continued roar of shotgun fire and the sound of cries and bodies hitting the floor. She could feel hot breath against her ear and warm hands trapping her wrists, closing them against her body. His chest was pressed hard against her, his legs in between hers. She could feel his heart against hers, thumping like a jackhammer.

"Get the hell off me you bastard! Get off me!" she shrieked. She managed to extricate her arms and she slammed her fist against her attackers face, as hard as she could manage, intending to shatter bone. The guns continued to bang and crack around them, accompanied by the sound of screams.

"Ow!" he yelled, and the sound of his voice sparked recognition in Miriana, "Jesus, woman, I'm trying to help you."

She stopped struggling for a few seconds, just long enough to see his face. She recognized those vivid green eyes, the sweep of golden chestnut hair and the tanned skin.

"Ethan?" she said hesitantly.

"Yeah," he said, "Will you stop spitting like a cat now?"

"Yes," she said, slightly sheepishly, "Sorry."

"No worries," he grunted. She noticed he still hadn't extricated his weight off her.

"Dude," came a familiar deep voice from above them, "You can get off her now. They're dead."

"Oh...uh...right," Ethan stammered, "Sorry."

Hi weight was lifted off her a second later, and he held out his hand to pull her to her feet, instantly releasing her once she was safely stood up. She rubbed her ears, which were still ringing from the noise of the gunshots.

She glanced over to where Tank's hulking figure was crouched next to a small group of bodies, their eyes blank and staring up and the bright blue sky. A few of them had tiny red holes in their forehead, slowly weeping blood; others had wounds in their chests. Every single one of them was dead, still clutching shotguns in their stiff hands.

"What the hell is going on here?" she asked, turning to Ethan, who was staring transfixed at the bodies, "Since when do demons need to use guns?"

He shrugged, "I dunno. We came here last night; Rhea had gotten wind of some omens. We got fired at as soon as we drove in. Our car's shot to hell. Never saw the shooters thought, until this morning. There must be about twenty demons, at least, all of them with guns. We met some others hunters holed up at a house down the road. We'd come out to get some supplies for them when we heard the gunfire and came to help."

"Well...uh...thanks," Miriana said awkwardly.

She glanced around at the people gathered in the garden. She saw Rhea, her short blonde hair scraped up into a ponytail, clutching a shotgun and talking to Nate. Hovering close behind her was Frankie, also with a shotgun, his eyes flicking back and forth across the suburban street as if he was expecting another attack. Tank was stood by the bodies, his stance that of a club bouncer expecting a fight to kick off. There were two other people she didn't recognize; a tall blonde haired man who was almost as muscle bound as Tank, and a teenage boy, who was clutching a shotgun in trembling hands, his face ashen.

"How many people are at the house?" she asked.

"About fifteen of us," he replied, "There are two other hunters apart from us lot."

"Where's your brother?" she asked, noting the absence of Jack's lanky frame.

Ethan immediately went tense all over, and Miriana noted a shadow passed across his face, "He got shot. He's back at the house."

"Oh my God," she breathed, "Is he alright?"

Ethan gave a brief nod, "Yeah, he will be. He got hit in his chest, but it was close to his shoulder. No organs damaged as far as we can tell. Rhea checked him over; she'd got the most medical experience. She reckons he'll be fine as long as his wound keeps clean."

"I'm sorry, Ethan," she said, lightly touching his arm, aware his muscles were tensed as hard as iron underneath her had.

He covered up his distress with a bright, megawatt smile, "No worries. He'll be fine; he just needs to rest up for a bit."

At that moment Rhea detached herself from the small crowd and headed towards them, shrugging a large backpack onto her shoulders.

"Hey, Miriana," she said, inclining her head in her direction, "Good to see you."

"You too," Miriana said, returning Rhea's small smile.

"Listen Ethan, we need to get back," Rhea said in a business like voice, "We've got that antiseptic stuff for Jack's wound. We need to clean it up as soon as possible."

"Right," Ethan said, "Get the others and we'll set off."

It took around fifteen minutes to reach the house where the others were staying. It was a huge, colonial style building, huge gnarled trees growing in the front garden and blocking out some of the windows. There was a thick coil of pale smoke rising from a tall chimney, rising into the air and dispersing into the vivid sky. It was off the road, hidden from the rest of the street by a thick copse of trees. A thick hedge grew around the front of the garden, shielding the house. It was definitely a good place to hole up in a fight.

Rhea swept forwards and pushed a battered white gate open with a loud squeak of rusted hinges. The garden was slightly overgrown, and the house had the look of slight disrepair, as if the owners had grown tired of keeping it perfect. The white paint of the house was peeling ever so slightly, and the dark wood of the windowsills was faded from mahogany to a pale brown. Miriana followed the others up the creaking porch, waiting for a response as Rhea banged her fist sharply against the huge front door. There was the sound of locks scraping across the wood of the door, and then the door swung open to reveal a familiar figure.

"Get in," Rufus grunted, standing aside to let the small group pass.

"Miriana?" Rufus said, surprise colouring his tone, "What are you doing here?"

"I came with the Winchesters," Miriana replied, "But we split up. I don't know what's happened to them."

"Good to see you in one piece," Rufus muttered, holding out his hand to her.

"Yeah, you too," Miriana said, grasping his hand and shaking it firmly. Miriana noticed as she stepped over the threshold that there was a devil's trap painted against the door, and a quick glance around the room showed that there were lines of salt underneath all the doors and windows.

Miriana turned when she heard the dull thud of footsteps across the dusty floorboards. There was a bald man wearing a shop assistants uniform with a name tag that read 'Charlie', a grey haired man in a thick jacket and a cap that reminded her of Bobby, and a blonde haired woman that she instantly recognized.

"Jo?" she asked incredulously. The last time she had seen Jo, her and her mother Ellen had just finished a blazing row over whether or not Jo should follow her father's footsteps into hunting. She hadn't expected to see Jo in a hunt or supernatural situation again after that particular bust up.

"Miriana," she said, clapping her on the shoulder, "Didn't expect to see you here."

"Yeah well, I came with the Winchesters," she said, slightly bitterly, "Always dragging me into trouble."

Jo's face instantly brightened, "The Winchesters? Where's Dean?"

Miriana understood the reason for Jo's eagerness; despite Dean adamantly denying that Jo had no feelings for him, Miriana knew perfectly well that she did. She always put on a cool mask of bravado whenever Dean was around, and Miriana and Sam, it seemed, could see straight through it. It entertained Miriana to no end to watch Dean squirm whenever Jo was around. It made her feel better whenever he dropped innuendo about her and Cas.

"I don't know," she answered, "We split up."

The hopeful smile instantly fell from her face, "You don't know where he is?"

Miriana shrugged, "No, sorry."

Jo expelled a long breath, "Oh."

"What about Ellen?" Miriana asked, "Isn't she with you?"

A shadow instantly passed across Jo's face, "No."

"Where is she?"

Miriana noticed Jo's hands clenched into tight fists, the bones standing out stark white against her skin, "She's possessed. There's some evil bitch inside her."

"By a demon?" Miriana asked, instantly regretting asking such a stupid question.

Jo gave a tense nod.

At that moment, the young teenager that had been with them outside came racing down the stairs, his eyes wide, "There's demons on the porch!"

Rufus instantly looked up from the table at which he was packing salt into shotgun rounds, "With guns?"

The teenager nodded, "I think so."

Rufus cursed and pulled a shotgun from the table, "Jo, Kevin, Charlie" he said gesturing to the man in the trucker cap and the man with the name tag, "Go and check outside."

They both nodded, each of them grabbing a shotgun for themselves. Miriana grabbed one too, "Ill join you."

She followed them as swept through the lounge, opting for a small door at the back of the house rather than the main entrance. They walked very carefully so the battered wooden planks of the porch didn't creak when they placed their feet on them. As they rounded the corner of the house, she saw two familiar figures; Sam and Ellen Harvelle.

The man in the trucker cap instantly leapt forwards and pinned Ellen against the wall, and the man named Charlie swung his shotgun straight towards Sam's head, although the hunter easily blocked the swing. Jo stepped forwards raised her shotgun on a level with Ellen's head.

"Don't move you evil skank!" she screeched. Miriana just stood there, frozen. There was no way Sam could be possessed. Both he and Dean had anti possession tattoos that stopped demons getting inside them. She couldn't say the same for Ellen, but she found it hard to believe a hunter as tough as Ellen didn't have some sort of protection against demons.

Sam continued to tussle with the man, eventually managing to disarm him of his shotgun and slamming him against the side of the house. Charlie instantly released his hold on Ellen and rushed to help him. As soon as she was free, Ellen whirled to face Jo, and there was no mistaking the flat, liquid black colour of her eyes. Spurred into action Miriana trained the shotgun on the older woman while Jo kept her pinned against the wall, the barrel of the shotgun hovering close to Ellen's throat.

"Don't you hurt her," Ellen pleaded suddenly, "Don't you-"

Miriana frowned. Who was she pleading with? Why wasn't the demon inside her fighting harder against Jo's hold. She knew a mother's love could be strong, but the demons were usually stronger.

"Give me my mom back you black-eyed bitch!" Jo hissed, pressing her face close up to the demons. Miriana kept the shotgun trained on Ellen, but she moved her finger away from the trigger. She didn't want to accidently blow Ellen's head off, even though the demon was inside of her.

Ellen's face when dark with fury, her black eyes flashing and she shoved Jo backwards, backhanding her around the side of her face when Jo raised the shotgun. Miriana moved to slam her shotgun against her skull, but Ellen caught her upraised arm and dealt her a crippling blow to the stomach and she crashed into the porch winded.

"Ellen run!" she heard Sam yell. A glance up from her position against the floorboards showed her that Sam, his eyes unmistakeably black, was aiming a shotgun and the man on the floor, his finger hovering over the trigger.

"Ellen r-" Sam's voice was instantly cut off and Miriana saw him slam into the floorboards, felled by a blow from Rufus. There was no sign of Ellen.

Rufus stood over the demon wearing Sam, who was slumped on the floor, close to unconsciousness. "Got you now, you bastard," Rufus growled.

It took quite some time and considerable man power to heave Sam's huge frame into a room off of the main hall, tying him to a wide mahogany chair in the centre of a perfectly drawn devil's trap. The fire crackled and snapped merrily in the corner, a sound far too comforting and homely for such a frightening, war like situation. Miriana leaned against the door frame, Ethan close behind her, watching Sam slowly stir back into consciousness. Jo swept past them both and leaned against a cupboard near the door, hitching a huge plastic bottle of holy water higher onto her hip, tucking it underneath her arm.

"I can't believe they got Sam," Ethan muttered in her ear, "You'd think the Winchesters would have protection against that sort of thing. I have."

She turned to see Ethan twisting a small silver charm between his fingers.

"They do," she muttered back, "They have tattoos on their shoulders. I don't understand what's happening."

Rufus towered over Sam, his hands placed firmly on his hips. In the background, she could hear Rhea murmuring to Jack, who had come downstairs to have his wound cleaned and dressed.

Sam began to stir, instantly tugging at the bonds that held him, blinking rapidly in the harsh light that Rufus had trained on him. He glanced up, and at the sight of Rufus and Jo, instantly began to struggle harder. The flickering fire light was reflected in his flat black eyes.

"Miriana?" he said in a surprised tone, catching sight of her pressed up against the door, "What happened to you?"

"How did you get in him you demon bastard?" she snapped, taking a step forwards, preparing to launch herself at him. She felt Ethan's restraining hand against her shoulder, and she stepped back. It wouldn't help to lose her temper. Sam frowned, tugging even harder at the knots around his wrists.

"Uh-uh," Rufus said, "No way you're getting out of those. Did you up myself."

He took a threatening step closer, covering Sam in his shadow, "You're stuck right where I want you."

Rufus placed both hands against the arms of the chair, leaning right into Sam, "You evil son of a bitch."

She noticed the demon looked slightly confused, knotting Sam's eyebrows together. That was unusual. Every demon she trapped was always full of bravado, constantly trying their hardest to wind her up, goad her into doing something she'd regret. But this one wasn't. It was staying remarkably quiet.

He backhanded the demon around the side of the face, instantly bruising the skin. The demon grunted in pain, turning his face against the back of the chair. A second later, Jo stepped forwards and chucked a great bout of holy water over the demon. But there was no reaction, no hissing noise like fat in a pan, no burning skin and coils of smoke. Jo frowned, looking horrified, and Miriana felt Ethan tense all over behind her. Rufus didn't linger for a second, despite the sudden shock; he stepped forwards and tilted Sam's head back, reaching for a red plastic bottle behind him.

"No," the demon said suddenly, panic in its voice, "No, no, no wait."

Jo held the demons head back while Rufus poured a great stream of salt into its mouth, upending all the contents even as the demon spat mouthfuls of the white crystals out of its mouth. Rufus began to mutter the Latin spell, but again there was no reaction. The demon didn't hiss with pain, and there was no coil of smoke emitting from Sam's mouth.

"What the hell is happening?" Ethan's voice was saturated with tension, and she could sense a little fear in there too, "What the hell is that thing?"

The demon sputtered, spitting out the salt when Rufus and Jo stepped back, but it didn't leave Sam's body, just continued to plead with them.

"Look, something's not right, do you see that?" the demon said, his voice imploring. Jo swore loudly and grabbed the plastic bottle of holy water again, dumping another great load over the demon.

"Come on, stop listen!" the demon beseeched with Sam's voice. It glanced up at the ceiling; eyes travelling over the intricate devils trap, and frowned.

"Look, listen," it began again, confusion evident across Sam's face.

"Why isn't it working?" she heard Jo hiss under her breath.

"I don't know," Rufus growled back.

"Look, listen to me," the demon implored again, "Something's not right."

Rufus glared at it over his shoulder, "He's not as strong as he thinks he is."

"You can see that," the demon continued, "Please, please, just listen to me."

Jo shook her head in a disgusted way and stepped towards Miriana.

"It isn't working," she snapped, as if it was Miriana's fault.

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I can see that Jo."

"What the hell is it?" she hissed, casting a nervous glance back at the thing in the chair.

"I don't know, but I'm telling you, I didn't think a demon could get inside Sam. He has an anti possession tattoo. So do I, and trust me, they work."

"It's not demons," Ethan said suddenly, "It can't be. Holy water and salt works on most demons, and any it doesn't work on we wouldn't be able to hold in a trap anyway. It would be too powerful; they'd just break right through."

Miriana shook her head, thinking hard. Ethan was right. She walked into the dusty lounge, heading for Rufus, who had stormed out of the room in a blaze of anger and a stream of curse words. He was sat in a deep, squashy looking armchair, gazing out of the window at the overgrown front garden.

"Rufus," she said, leaning against the windowsill, "Why did you come to River Pass? Was there a specific reason? Omens, signs?"

Rufus frowned, "Yeah. The water."

Miriana rolled her eyes. Rufus was often quite monosyllabic. "What about the water?"

He shrugged, "Something to do with pollution."

Miriana turned to one of the townspeople, the blond muscle man that had been with them when Ethan and the others had saved her from the gunfire.

"Did something happen to the water?" she asked, "Earlier in the week."

The man raised his gaze from the fire, which he had been pensively staring into a few seconds before, "Yeah. It got all polluted. A whole mess of crap, all of a sudden. We couldn't drink from it. The next day the whole black eyes thing started up."

"When was this?" she questioned.

"Last Wednesday."

This information didn't help Miriana at all. She couldn't think of any supernatural thing that polluted water. She needed more information.

"Was there anything else weird?"

The blond man's eyes flicked away from hers, back to the fire, "Nothing."

Miriana raised her eyebrows, "Really?"

He sighed heavily, his massive shoulders rising and falling, "It's not really relevant."

"Trust me; everything is relevant where this is concerned."

"There was this falling star," he said, "But it was odd. It was huge, the biggest I've ever seen. And it was red."

Miriana glanced at Ethan, who was listening intently, "Red?"

"Miriana I need a word with you a sec," Ethan said, lightly touching her arm.

She followed him to the furthest corner of the room, "I think I know what those signs mean."

"What?" she said eagerly.

"My mum was big into the bible," he explained, "She used to read bits of it to me. Sometimes the bits about the apocalypse; the red falling star, the polluted water. It sounds like war."

Miriana felt her heart stop for a second, "War? As in the horseman?"

He nodded curtly, and Miriana scrubbed at her temples, feeling the beginning of a headache.

"You think that's what's brought the demons?"

Ethan frowned, "No, I think it's causing the demons. I mean think about it, demons with guns? Since when have they ever had to use guns? Salt and holy water doesn't work, or Latin exorcisms. And that 'demon' in Sam. It looks confused that they're chucking holy water all over it."

"So...it's making us think the others are demons so we'll kill them? Why?"

He shrugged, "Its war isn't it? Making a war wherever it goes."

She sighed heavily, slumping down into a hard chair against the wall, "Great."

Castiel pulled the amulet from his pocket, looking down at the tiny charm with disappointment. It had flared boiling hot a few seconds before, burning his fingertips, but the heat had quickly faded, leaving the metal cool once again. He fought the urge to throw the thing as far away as he could in frustration. Instead, he breathed deeply and returned it to his pocket, dropping it against the photograph of Miriana he now carried.

He was in Canada, wandering through pine covered mountain slopes shrouded in mist. Since he had left the Winchesters in the hospital room, he had flitted all across the earth, one hand firmly clenched around the amulet in his pocket so he could feel the slightest change of temperature in the metal. He had followed the surge of heat to the deep forest he was now walking through, but it had proved useless. His father was no closer to him than he had been a day ago.

He didn't even really know where to look, other than to randomly choose places across the earth and hope and pray. Evidently his prayers were going unanswered. Nowhere he had been had given him anything other than a false sense of hope. He sighed heavily, leaning against the nearest tree.

The mountain towered over a small town that was nestled in the valley, its houses like little toys strewn across the landscape, dotted with the tiny moving flecks that were vehicles bundling around on the roads. It was just after midday, and the vivid yellow sun shone fiercely over the valley, gilding the bark on the trees with a light dusting of gold, filtering through the trees and turning the light around him a deep green colour. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of pine needles and fresh earth. He loved that smell; it was the smell of nature, his Father's creation.

He tensed suddenly when he heard the crackle of bushes next to him, but it was just a deer racing away, frightened by his presence. He watched it bound away down the slope, and then returned his eyes to the sky again. It looked like a storm was coming in; the clouds were gathering on the horizon were heavy with the threat of rain. He could feel it in the air, that faint electrical charge building, turning the atmosphere heavy with tension.

He knew he should get moving, carry on the search, but he found he couldn't seem to move. He had only been searching for one day, and already he was disheartened and tired. Without the whispers of his brothers and sisters inside his head, he felt completely alone and isolated, lost in a huge world that hadn't seemed so big until he was abandoned in it. He hadn't even seen Embriel since he had returned from death, and he was worried. Perhaps she was forbidden from seeing him, or maybe she just didn't want to. He didn't even have that tenuous connection to heaven anymore.

He reached into his pocket and closed his fingers around the odd contraption that he knew was called a mobile. He hated the thing. He couldn't understand it; there was always some cool female voice telling him he needed to do things, but he could never get a grasp on what she was prattling on about. He had given up trying. Flicking the phone open, he scrolled through the few numbers on his phone that he had pulled straight from their heads; it seemed that power was still working at least, if slightly dulled. There weren't many contacts in his phone, just the Winchesters, Bobby Singer and Miriana of course. His finger hovered over the green button that he had worked out called the person, wrestling with the desire to call her and hear her voice and avoid making a nuisance of himself. He was worried that he had upset her, back in Bobby's hospital room. He hadn't meant to lose his temper, but the anger that had been bubbling inside of him, subconsciously, had come spilling out. It had taken a considerable amount of effort not to throw the surly elder Winchester against the wall or burn him where he stood. It was only her presence in the room that had stopped him.

Sighing, he dropped the phone back into his pocket. It was obvious she didn't want him the way he wanted her. She didn't love him; if she did, she would have told him when he confessed himself to her. That was her opportunity, and she hadn't said it. That was a clear sign to him that he should back off, as hard as it was. He had always thought she would wake up and realize exactly how inadequate he was for her; it had actually taken longer than he had thought. He had always thought that she would run a mile after that first conversation outside the hospital.

The first few droplets of icy cold rain began to splatter against his skin, accompanied by the growl of thunder. The wind whistled through the trees, the leaves whispering. Most ordinary people would dash for the nearest cover as soon as the heavy droplets began to fall, but he didn't. He stayed against the tree, letting the raindrops fall against his skin and soak his clothes. He hadn't ever noticed before, but he kind of liked the rain.


	6. With or Without You

"Rufus, you have to understand!" Miriana said, gesturing wildly, "It's not demons, its war! The horseman!"

The tall blonde muscle man regarded her with cold eyes, "She's crazy. The both of them!" he snapped, waving his hand at Ethan, who was hovering protectively behind her.

"The water, the falling star," Ethan said, "They're all signs of the horseman. It's not demons out there it's just people; it's turning us against them!"

Jo stood in the background, frowning. She opened her mouth as if to say something, and then shut it again. Sensing that Jo was wavering, she tried her instead.

"Jo," she said beseechingly, "Didn't you hear what Ellen said. 'Don't hurt my daughter?' She thinks you're a demon too!"

She glanced out of the window as if hoping for a sign, then turned back to Miriana, "I...don't know."

She sighed heavily, waving her hands, frustrated, "Doesn't anyone agree with me? Something weird is happening here, something other than demons!"

Jo glanced at Rufus, "She's right you know. I mean..."

Jo's argument with Rufus faded out completely when Miriana caught sight of a man slinking past the front window, unnoticed, as everyone had their eyes on Miriana and Ethan. He looked completely ordinary, dressed in a black suit and white shirt, a striped tie slung loosely around his neck, but just looking at him gave her a sudden, fierce headache. His eyes, framed by silver wire glasses, looked up from the ground and met hers, his mouth curving into a cruel smirk. He lifted his finger close to his face and twisted a dull gold ring once, and then pandemonium broke out.

"...I mean the horseman makes sense," Jo was saying, when Miriana's hearing tuned back in, "It could-"

"Oh my God!" gasped a woman at the back of the room who had so far remained silent, "Look at their eyes!"

She gestured with a shaking finger to Miriana and Ethan, and looks of horror dawned across every face in the room.

"Demons," hissed Rufus, lifting his shotgun to aim at Miriana's forehead. For the second time in the same day, Miriana found herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Move!" yelled Ethan, grabbing hold of her arm and dragging her towards the door, seconds after the round meant for Miriana's head thudded into the wall, shedding chunks of plaster and wallpaper.

They threw open the door, ducking as two more shots whizzed over their heads. They thundered down the garden path throwing themselves out of the front gate and rolling to shelter behind the nearest, which was parked haphazardly on the other side of the small road. Miriana heard shouting and swearing, footsteps suddenly retreating back into the house.

"What the hell did they shoot at us for?" Ethan said indignantly.

"It must have been war," Miriana hissed back, "There was this man outside the window, he twisted this ring, and then they shot at us. I guess he thought were on his trail and turned the others on us."

Ethan sighed heavily, "Oh, terrific. But why did they-"

Before he could finish his sentence, he suddenly roared in agony, the harsh noise accompanied by the ear shattering bang of a gun. She launched herself into action, gripping his shirt tightly between her hands and half leading, half dragging him behind a thick copse of bushes, shrieking in alarm when a bullet thumped into the concrete by her foot.

"You Okay?" she asked breathlessly, mentally slapping herself for asking such a stupid question.

"My shoulder," he spat out through gritted teeth. Miriana glanced across to see a thick, viscous blood pouring over his fingers, which were clamped tightly across his shoulder. Miriana could see the smoky grey metal of the bullet, still embedded in his shoulder.

"Shit, shit, shit," he hissed, "Shit that hurts!"

Miriana cast a panicked glance at the ground around them. She didn't have anything to bind the wound, or any weapon to defend her and Ethan. She winced when he shifted and another great spout of blood gushed down his arm.

A shadow fell across them and without thinking Miriana leapt to her feet and closed her fingers around the barrel of the shotgun the man was carrying, intending to wrench it from his hands.

"Miriana!" Dean barked, "Let go you crazy woman!"

She glanced up at the face of her apparent attacker and was met with a pair of familiar green eyes.

"Dean?"

"Yes," he said curtly, tugging the shotgun out of her grasp, "What the hell are you doing crouched out here?"

"It's war, Dean," she said, grabbing his forearm, "The horseman. He's turned everyone against us! Ethan, he's..." she gestured helplessly at Ethan, who was still slumped against the bushes, clutching his shoulder.

"Here use this," he said, pulling a small wad of gauze from his pocket, "And yeah, I'm down with the whole war situation. He turned everyone on us too. Is Jo in there?"

"Yeah, but she'll think you and Ellen are demons," she said, kneeling down next to Ethan and pressing the gauze to his shoulder.

"Well then, we'll just have to convince them," Dean said, his expression grim, "Wait here."

"No, I thought I'd just let him bleed to death," Miriana snapped, her words laced with sarcasm.

He rolled his eyes at her, and then vanished around the side of the bushes, heading towards the house.

There was an uncomfortable tense silence, during which Miriana tightened the gauze across the bullet hole in Ethan's shoulder, returning his grateful smile briefly. Then an explosion rent the silence in two, and Miriana saw chunk of bricks and plaster arc gracefully into the air.

"Oh God," she breathed, "When did Rufus rig the place up?"

"He must have done it when we were talking," he replied, "Guess Rufus doesn't give a crap about the bodies the demons are in, huh?"

Miriana let out a nervous laugh, "No, Rufus isn't one for bothering about civilian life."

There was quiet again for a few minutes, and Miriana got to her feet and peered around the edge of the bushes there were sheltering behind, checking for any hostiles. It was horribly quiet, the air humming with tension.

She immediately dropped back to the ground when she heard gunfire, the bullets aimed for the house. She heard a scream and the noise of something hitting the ground, the sound instantly covered up by more gunshots. People were firing at each other everywhere, bullets racing back and forth like angry bees, even though she could hear Rufus's rough voice commanding everyone to cease fire.

She heard Ethan shout her name, panic in his voice, and she felt someone grab her by the back of her leather jacket, hauling her to her feet. He threw her backwards and raised the gun to her chest, but before his finger could so much as touch the trigger Miriana closed her hands around the barrel of the gun, wrenching the metal as hard as she could to try and disarm the man. He was stronger than she had suspected, and he didn't relinquish the rifle, but struggled silently to pull it back. Miriana was thankful to see that his eyes were a pale blue; it meant she was no longer hallucinating. But she couldn't say the same for him. He clearly thought she was still a demon.

His finger slipped against the trigger, and she winced as a few bullets shot up into the air, passing dangerously close to her face. He was trying to angle the gun downwards, the muzzle slowly being directed back to her chest. Another bullet shot from the gun, and she felt it graze past her shoulder, felt the heat as it was launched from the muzzle. Maybe this time she was actually going to get shot.

But at that second, the man suddenly crumpled, thudding into the grass. Ethan stood behind him, holding a splintered branch as a crude weapon, one hand still clamped firmly over the bullet hole in his shoulder, which was still freely weeping blood.

"Well," he said, a pained smile across his face, "That's twice I've saved your life. I guess you owe me, huh?"

Once the cleanup operation was complete in River Pass, the sun was starting to sink into the horizon, bathing the small town in a warm orange light. Miriana checked in on Ethan and Jack, who had both had their gunshot wounds treated by Rhea and were being driven to the hospital by Frankie. The townspeople were slowly getting themselves together dealing with the wounded and apologising profusely, now the hallucinations brought on by war were fading. After collecting Nate, who was fuming about not being allowed to fight, Miriana caught up the Winchesters on the edge of town. They were stood by the Impala, the both of them staring intensely at the dull gold ring that was resting on the roof of the car, oddly inconspicuous. She knew what it was as soon as she saw it; it looked plain enough, but she felt that sudden stab of pain through her head and a strange sense of discomfort that the sight of the horseman had brought on. She said a hasty goodbye to the brothers, giving the ring a wide berth. She hated the sight of it; it made her feel ill.

She found the nearest motel and booked a separate room for her and Nate; she loved her cousin, but she found sharing a room with him aggravating. He was too energetic most of the time, always demanding her attention. After a hunt Miriana preferred to get a shower, curl up and watch TV or get lost in a good book, rather than be dragged out to the nearest bar and drink and play pool until two in the morning. It was a source of constant annoyance for Dean whenever she went on a hunt with him and Sam, whereas Sam seemed to quite appreciate her need for peace and quiet.

She was halfway through her latest crime thriller when her phone buzzed suddenly, startling her. She flipped it open, frowning at the unknown number.

"Hello?" she said hesitantly into the phone. In her experience unknown numbers at this time usually meant bad news.

"Miriana," said a deep gravelly voice. There was a note of almost relief in his voice, as if he hadn't expected it to be her voice on the other end of the line.

"Cas? You okay?" she asked, sitting up straight, her book thumping to the floor, unnoticed.

"Yes," he replied, "May I talk to you for a while?"

"Um...yeah sure," she said, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Where are you?" he asked.

"The Pinefront Hotel room 44, just outside of River Pass in Colorado."

"Alright," he said, and then abruptly hung up the phone.

She stared at her mobile, slightly affronted. Had she imagined him asking to talk to her?

She felt a breeze stir her hair, ruffling the pages of her book. She looked up, her heart racing.

He was stood in front of the door, his dark hair soaked, droplets racing down his cheeks. The top of his trench coat was darker than usual, soaked with water.

"What happened?" she asked, taking in his somewhat dishevelled appearance.

"Nothing," he said calmly.

"But, why are you all wet?" she asked, standing up and stepping a little closer.

"I like the rain," he said simply.

Miriana felt a smile creep across her face; he could be incredibly cute without even knowing it.

"You should let this dry," she suggested, stepping forwards and tapping the shoulder of his coat, "Take it off."

He slid it off his shoulders, handing it to her carefully, as if he didn't want their hands to touch. She threw it over the radiator in the corner of the room, pulling a towel off it as she did.

"Here," she said, throwing it to him, "Dry your hair off. You're dripping all over the carpet."

He followed her instructions obediently, scrubbing his hair with towel and wiping the trails of rainwater away from his face. He handed her the towel back, his hair even more ruffled and messy than before.

"What's wrong, Cas?" she asked softly, touching his hand carefully. She noticed his skin was icy cold.

He sighed heavily, looking down at her hand against his. She hastily returned it to her side.

"I can't find him," he said dejectedly, "Every time I think I'm a little closer, there's just...nothing."

"You mean God?" she asked.

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and pulling out Dean's amulet, holding it loosely between his fingers.

"It burns hot, then a second later the metal is freezing again."

She brushed her fingertips across the amulet lightly, "Maybe it doesn't work."

He shook his head, "No. There is no way it is broken."

She gently pulled the amulet from between his fingers and slipped back into his pocket, "Don't give up. You've not even been looking that long. You'll find him."

"I just thought...I thought he'd want to help," he said quietly, "That he'd be looking for me too."

He looked so lost and lonely, a few droplets of cold rainwater still running down his face and soaking into the collar of his shirt, that she stepped forwards and hugged him, despite the fact his wet clothes were freezing against her skin. After a second, she felt his arms around her waist, his head against her shoulder.

"You'll find him," she said firmly, "I know you will."

He was silent for a while, then she felt his arms tighten around her waist, "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, bemused.

"For being here," he murmured into her ear.

He pulled back and turned his face as if to kiss her cheek, but she moved her face too, and somehow their lips were touching. She grazed her lips against his for the briefest second, then she pulled back quickly. His eyes met hers, and they seemed to search hers as if measuring her reaction. When she didn't pull out of the circle of his arms, he leaned down and kissed her again, harder.

That familiar feeling of being doused in fire engulfed her again, her veins running hot with adrenalin. Her heart began to beat out its erratic pattern against her ribcage, and she weakly grasped the front of his wet shirt, crushing the material between her fingers. Something in the back of her head told her that she shouldn't be doing this anymore; no matter how hard they both tried, they both got hurt.

She pushed hard against his chest, breaking his hold on her. He let out a noise of almost disappointment, dropping his arms back to his sides.

"Miriana," he said, concern lacing his voice, "What's the matter? Did I do something wrong?"

She looked at him then, really looked at his wide, deep blue eyes, ruffled hair, his trench coat and suit that was still somehow neat despite all the battering he had taken, all his innocence, and she felt guilt well up inside of her. She thought of everything he had done for her, all he had lost, all the hardships she had braved to keep her safe. She had never learnt what had happened to him when he had been dragged back to heaven, but after everything she heard of his superiors, she suspected it involved pain and torment. His quietly furious words from the hospital echoed back to her, and the guilt sharpened and intensified, constricting her chest. She didn't deserve him; he was all light and purity, and she was broken down and messed up, a train wreck still thundering along the rail lines.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she whispered, "I can't do this anymore."

"Do what?" he asked, confused.

"This," she said, gesturing between the two of them, "Us."

"Why?" he asked.

"Because, no matter what we do, somebody gets hurt," she replied, "I'm always hurting you Cas; we're always hurting each other. Something always happens and we always get taken away from each other."

"It doesn't have to be like that now," he said beseechingly, "I'm cut off from heaven now, they won't hurt you anymore, I promise."

She shook her head sadly, "I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you; this between us will get you hurt. I'm always hurting you, and I'll do it again."

"No," he said, his eyes wide, "No, you won't Miriana. You've never hurt me. Everything has always been my fault."

She laughed miserably, "See, you're doing it again. Putting all the blame on yourself, when it's all me."

"No it isn't you," he said, his voice rising slightly in volume.

"You deserve better Cas," she said, "I'm a mess. A car crash."

"You're not," he said firmly, "You're stronger than anyone I know."

"No," she said, feeling the burn of self loathing running through her, "I'm weak and completely useless. Just ask Dean, he'll tell you."

"Dean doesn't think that of you," he said, his voice low, "He never would."

She rubbed her forehead, "I don't know what to do, Cas. I can't live with you, and I can't live without you."

He said nothing to this, just remained silent, his eyes focused on her, emotions raging through them, turning them the colour of the sky before a storm hit.

She blew out a long breath, "I just...need a break from this for a while. Can't...can't we just...be friends for now?"

She saw something briefly flash across his eyes, but then suddenly cooled back to neutrality. "Yes of course," he said, oddly formally.

She stepped forwards and threw her arms around his shoulders, although he remained very straight and only reciprocated the hug at the very last minute.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she said, her voice muffled by his shoulder, "I just need a little time."

He broke her hold easily, stepping backwards, "Yes."

"Are we alright?" she asked tentatively.

"Of course," he said his voice back to the typical dead pan tone, "I must go."

"Right," she said, "Well I-"

She stopped short when he vanished on the spot, leaving her alone in the room, filled with regret and self loathing.

"I'm sorry," she said dejectedly to thin air.


	7. Victim

_Hi everyone, hope you're all okay. I've finally managed to get an update out. I'm sorry it's late but jet lag can be a bitch; an eight hour flight really takes it out of you. Anyway, Harry Potter land is amazing, but ridiculously busy; you couldn't move there was that many people. ;) I hope you all enjoy this chapter and a huge thank you as always to everyone who's left a review or favourite- I really appreciate it and I hope everyone is still enjoying the story. I also have to make an advanced apolgoy for the fact that I might not be updating as regularly as possible in the next few weeks. I came back off holiday to find out that my Granddad is dying in hospital, which needless to say was a bit of a shock and very upsetting. We're back and forth at the hospital so I may not have time to update as regularly, but I'll ty my best, cos writing helps to take my mind of things. Anwyay, hope you enjoy! :) :)_

When Miriana woke up the next morning, she felt thoroughly depressed, her mood as black as the clouds that were gathering in the sky above her motel. She packed her bags into her car, barely acknowledging Nate when he sauntered up next to the car and dumped his hold all unceremoniously into the back seat.

"Morning sunshine," he said, bumping her shoulder. She merely grunted in response.

"You okay?" he asked, catching her eyes.

"Fine," she muttered, "Get in the car, we're going home. I need a break for a weekend. I am not in the mood to get shot at again."

Quickly sensing her dark mood and sullen tone, he climbed silently into the car and said nothing else, pulling his iPod out of his pocket and inserting his headphones firmly into his ears, even though one of his CD's was in the machine.

She knew it was completely her fault that she was in such a black mood. She had chosen to push Cas away; she had made the decision to keep herself away from him. But in the harsh morning light, she couldn't help but feel she had made yet another monumental mistake. She just couldn't seem to get anything right. At least this way, she knew she was protecting him from her destructive and hurtful ways.

She had the feeling that her black mood also had something to do with the fact that her thirtieth birthday was fast approaching. She didn't really know why she had such a problem with turning thirty, but she suddenly felt very old and incredibly unattractive. It hadn't helped when Dean had recently made a comment along the lines of; 'Well I reckon you'll still get laid, you don't look that bad.' This particular choice of words had gone down like a lead balloon.

Dean himself had turned thirty not so long ago, and he had barely batted an eyelid; possibly because he had been too drunk to remember it. Miriana certainly remembered that night well; she and Sam had had to forcibly drag him away from a group of girls he had been flirting with and just managed to get him outside before he emptied the contents of his stomach (mostly beer and Jack Daniels) up the side of the Impala. Both she and Sam had spent the majority of the night frantically scrubbing the sick away from the sleek black paintwork before Dean woke up with a raging hangover, saw the state of his car and would undoubtedly blame Nate, who had been just as drunk as him. She had assured her cousin if he ever got that drunk and unruly again she'd drown him in all the bottles of alcohol he had drunk.

The drive to New Richmond was devoid of conversation, aside from Nate briefly asking how long it would take to reach the house. She knew it wasn't fair to take out her frustrations and worries on Nate, but she couldn't stop herself. She just didn't have the energy to act cheerful.

When she rumbled down the driveway to her aunt's house, she saw several huge boxes littering the drive, her aunt struggling into the house with two huge boxes under her arms, her grey hair tied back into a plait. When she saw Miriana climbing out of the car, she shrieked, dropping the boxes with a huge crash and sprinted across the drive, pushing Miriana so her back faced the house.

"No, no, no!" she yelled, flapping her hands back and forth, "You can't see this! Here!"

She ripped the thin purple scarf away from her neck and held it front of Miriana's eyes, "Tie this," she demanded.

Miriana rolled her eyes and batted the scarf out of the way, "What are you doing?"

Eve sighed, casting Nate a dark look, who looked slightly sheepish, "It was meant to be a surprise."

"What was?" she asked, looking between Nate and her Aunt.

"Your thirtieth birthday party next Saturday," she said, dejectedly. She turned to Nate, thumping him on the arm, "You were supposed to keep it a secret!"

Nate rubbed his arm, looking affronted, "I did! How was I supposed to know she was gonna come home early?"

"I don't want a party," Miriana said, cutting across her aunt before she could argue.

"Oh but sweetheart, you'd love it," her Aunt said gently, "A chance to get dressed up, get fussed over."

"No thank you," Miriana said stiffly.

"Booze and presents," Nate stated, as if she these were the only reasons he needed to convince her.

"Oddly enough that won't convince me Nate," she said dryly.

"Look, I don't care if you want this party or not, but I've already rung Jack and Ethan and Bobby and everyone else so you don't have a choice," Nate said disinterestedly, inspecting his fingernails, "I'm not ringing them all and cancelling."

"But-" Miriana began, but her aunt cut across her.

"Yes, and I've ordered all the food and drink," she said firmly, gesturing at the numerous boxes scattered around the drive, "No buts."

Miriana looked furiously between the two, but from their expressions and their folded arms told her neither of them was going to change their minds.

"I don't get why you chicks get so hung up about turning thirty," Nate said, leaning back against the car, "It's just another birthday."

"You wouldn't bloody understand," Miriana muttered under her breath, casting him a dark look.

"Oh," her aunt said suddenly, lifting up her hand in sudden realisation, "You need to ring Sam and Dean and tell them about the party. I can never get hold of those boys- they're a nightmare!"

"Fine," Miriana huffed. She stormed off upstairs and into her bedroom, rummaging in her pocket for her phone. She dialled Sam's number first, not sure if she could deal with Dean's teasing.

He answered after the fourth ring with a tired sounding "Hello?"

"Hey Sam," she said, trying to keep the frustration out of her tone.

"Hey Miriana," he said, "What's up?"

"Well it seems I'm having a thirtieth birthday party next Saturday and you're invited."

"Oh that's great," Sam exclaimed.

"No it isn't!" she snapped sharply, "It's very not great! I don't want to turn thirty Sam, much less have a party about it!"

"Oh," he said in a small voice, "I thought you'd like the idea."

"Yeah well, I don't have much of a choice do I?" she muttered darkly, "You coming or what?"

"Err...yeah," he replied, "You will be in a better mood on the night right?"

"I suppose I'll have to be," she grumbled, "Do me a favour and tell Dean will you?"

Sam's voice went very quiet all of a sudden, "I...don't really think I can do that."

She sighed loudly, "Why not? He's not drunk again is he? Passed out on the toilet?"

"No it's nothing like that."

"Well, elaborate then," she snapped.

"We're not together anymore," he said, "I left."

She paused for a long second, unintentionally picking thread from the pillow on her bed, "Why?"

There was a rush of static as he sighed, "I need space, Miriana. Back in River Pass, I...I killed this guy I thought was a demon and I...the blood it..."

He tailed off and Miriana gave the thread a savage yank so half the pillow unravelled.

"You mean you still want a shot of demon blood?"

He said nothing, but Miriana didn't really need his answer anyway. She threw the pillow on the floor before she destroyed it more thoroughly.

"You didn't mention this," she said in a strained voice.

"I didn't realize it was a problem until River Pass," he said, a pleading tone in his voice. Why did it seem like he was always trying to explain himself to her recently?

"I guess a little time apart is the best thing then," she said, at a loss for anything else to say, "I'll...ring Dean."

"Okay," he said, "Thanks. I just think me talking to him isn't the best idea right now."

"Of course," Miriana said, "Just...you know...take care of yourself Sam."

"I will," he said, oddly cheerfully, "See you soon, Miriana."

He hung up then, leaving Miriana staring blankly out of the window at the steel grey disc that was Lake Pleasant, feeling the ache of worry suddenly settle in her chest.

Castiel had known full well that tracking down Raphael was put his life on the line, but now it was his last night on earth, he felt the acid bite of fear in his mouth. He remembered with frightening clarity the moment when Raphael had torn him into pieces and scattered him into the winds, remembered all too well the horrendous, ripping agony of being cleaved into two. If he had to die, he had to die, but he hoped he wouldn't go through the pain again. And he hoped it would at least be quick.

He had gone to Dean because he knew he had no one else to turn to. There was Sam, but he was in no fit state to help him, and he didn't really trust the younger Winchester, not after everything that had happened. Of course there was Miriana, but she had made it perfectly clear she didn't want contact with him anymore. She hadn't said it in so many words, but her meaning had been perfectly clear. It seemed she'd finally realized that she didn't want him. He had always had the distinct feeling that eventually she would realize just how inadequate he was, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. He had been angry at first, furious that she had strung him along for so long, but now all he felt was a crushing sense of disappointment. The one ray of light he'd had to cling to since being returned to earth had gone out.

He materialized back inside the shabby sitting room of the dilapidated house Dean was squatting in whilst they hunted down Raphael, firmly clutching the urn of holy oil in his hand, grateful to be out of the searing heat. He briefly raised a hand to wipe away the layer of rust coloured dust that had settled across the top of his trench coat. At that moment Dean stumped into the room, carrying on old leather bound book in his hands.

"Where've you been?" he demanded in his typical abrupt manner.

"Jerusalem," he answered, placing the urn of holy oil carefully on the table.

"Oh how was it?"

"Arid," he replied shortly.

Dean glanced down at the urn, frowning, "What is that?"

"Holy oil," he said, slumping into a chair next to the table, "Very special, very rare.

"Good, so we're gonna trap Raphael with a nice vinaigrette?" Dean said.

"No," he answered shortly, not in the mood for sarcasm.

Dean rolled his eyes, apparently frustrated with his sullen mood, "So this ritual of yours, when has it gotta go down?"

"Sunrise."

He nodded briefly, "You keep saying we're gonna trap this guy. Isn't that like trapping a hurricane with a butterfly net?"

"No, it's harder."

"Do we have any chance of surviving this?"

"You do."

Dean paused for a second as if absorbing the facts, "So, odds are you're a dead man tomorrow?"

"Yes," he replied. He knew the usual human reaction was to be choked with terror, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything. He just kept thinking of Miriana.

"Oh," Dean said, pacing around the room. He seemed a lot more bothered than he would have expected.

"Well, last night on earth, what uh-what are your plans?"

He frowned. He wasn't aware he was supposed to have made plans for his last night on earth; he didn't expect to be alive much longer to carry out anything he wanted to do anyway.

"I just thought I'd sit here quietly," he replied hesitantly.

Dean looked shocked by this particular revelation, "Dude come on. Anything? Booze, women?"

He had a sudden unbidden thought of Miriana that made heat flash up his spine and an odd ache burst suddenly into existence in the pit of his stomach. He shifted in his chair, suddenly intensely uncomfortable, and he knew Dean would instantly pick up on it. He'd definitely thought of women, but only one held his interest.

He kept his mouth firmly shut whilst Dean gave him one long searching look.

"You have been with a woman right? Or an angel at least?"

He found his throat suddenly very dry and his tongue felt like a lead weight in his mouth. A voice in his head was screaming at him to lie, but he couldn't make the words. He rubbed the back of his neck as if this could somehow alleviate the rush of heat that had accompanied the thought of Miriana.

Dean leaned down next to him, making an effort to get right into his personal space, "Are you telling me you've never been up there doing a little cloud seeding?"

He could swear he could hear a mocking tone in his voice; he was seized by the sudden urge to punch Dean in the face.

"I've never had occasion okay?" he snapped, struggling to keep his voice down.

Dean paused for a long second, "Not even Miriana?" he asked in an almost hopeful voice.

"No," he replied curtly. As much as he might have wanted it, it had never happened, and now it was likely that it never would.

"All right," Dean said in a business like voice, striding over to pull his jacket off the back of a chair, "There are two things that I know for certain. One," he held up a finger, "Bert and Ernie are gay."

He had absolutely no idea who Bert and Ernie were; it was just another of Dean's references that he never understood.

"Two," Dean continued, shrugging on his jacket, "You are not going to die a virgin. Not on my watch."

Dean strode purposefully towards the door, "Let's go."

He hesitated for a few seconds, his mind still on Miriana. It felt wrong to be with someone else, as if he was betraying her. He should be spending his last few hours with her, even if they only sat and talked. But the bitter memory of her rejection hit him at that moment, and feeling suddenly incredibly determined, he followed Dean out of the door.

He soon discovered he didn't like beer. Or prostitutes. And he still couldn't understand what Dean had found so funny about the whole situation.

The hunter didn't stop laughing all the way back to the ramshackle house he was squatting in, and he was still chuckling when he trudged off to sleep in a camp bed in one of the upstairs rooms, leaving Cas alone in the sitting room. He only paused long enough to slap him on the shoulder and say "Sorry, man. I tried to get you laid."

He wearily dropped into a battered armchair in the corner of the room, wrinkling his nose as he brushed several years worth of dust and cobwebs off the fabric. At least he knew now he was absolutely useless with women. He cursed his own ineptitude; why couldn't he be more like Dean, charming every single woman that he came across, instead of turning into a quivering wreck. He was supposed to be an angel of God, unafraid and able to deal with anything. It was all Miriana's fault, he thought bitterly. He didn't have the slightest bit of interest in any other woman apart from her. Of course, the woman Dean had introduced him was beautiful he supposed, but he found himself comparing her every feature to that of Miriana. She'd had wide blue eyes and long eyelashes, but he didn't think there were as warm and expressive as Miriana's, or as pretty. She was perfectly slender, but she didn't have the curves and the muscle tone that Miriana had, and her smile did nothing to the rhythm of his heart like Miriana's did, as rare as it was. He thought she was the beautiful woman he'd ever seen, and now he hated her for it. No matter how hard he tried, she wouldn't leave his thoughts, and he couldn't imagine himself being with anyone else, not even all the stunning women Dean had been flirting with at the bar. She'd completely ruined him, left him craving something he couldn't have. But the more he thought about, he realized he couldn't hate her, no matter what she did to him. He loved her too much. It still didn't stop him resenting her a little for everything that had happened between them.

He fumbled in his pocket and pulled free the crumpled photograph of Miriana, smoothing out the battered edges. He wanted to see her, even if it was only for a few minutes. Dean had left his watch on the downstairs table, and he glanced at it to check the time; midnight. She was likely to be asleep, wherever she was. He flipped open his mobile, scrolling through the few numbers until he found hers. It was incredibly disconcerting, not knowing where she was all the time, having to rely on a piece of human technology to find her.

He pressed the dial button, lifting the phone to his ear. After a few rings, a warm female voice answered.

"Hello, this is Miriana's phone."

"Eve?" he asked, recognizing the voice of Miriana's Aunt.

""Castiel?" she said incredulously, "I never thought I'd hear you on the other end of the phone. Since when do angels need to call someone?"

He sighed heavily, "Miriana's shielded from angels, to keep her hidden. I can't just reach out and find her anymore."

"I see," Eve said, clearly not concerned about continuing the conversation.

"Where...is she around?" he asked hesitantly.

"She's in bed," Eve replied, a little curtly. It seemed her Aunt hadn't really warmed to him.

"Oh." He paused for a long second, unsure of what to say next. He couldn't relay the message through Eve; he didn't have any idea what he was going to say to her. There was so much unsaid that hung between them, but he found he couldn't voice what he wanted to say.

"Could you just tell her...just tell her I'm doing something dangerous tomorrow and if I don't...If I...will you just tell her that I..." he tailed off, feeling ridiculous.

When Eve spoke next, her voice was far softer and kinder, "I'll tell her."

He breathed a sigh of relief that she had understood so quickly, "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Eve said, oddly formally, "Bye."

He dropped the phone back in his pocket and slumped back against the creaking armchair, feeling suddenly incredibly tired. He wasn't supposed to feel tired; angels were supposed to be ceaseless and tireless, not feeling like there were lead weights tied to his every limb, weighing him down. He had even started to feel touches of cold every now and again, a rash of goose bumps rising up on his arms when a cold wind sliced through his clothes. This worried him more than anything. The weather had never affected him before; he could be stood in the middle of the Gobi desert or the depths of Antarctic and he would never had felt the difference, but now he found himself pulling his trench coat tighter around him or loosening his tie when it was too hot. Humanity was starting to worm its way into his body, decaying his grace like a cancer.

"Stop moping," came a voice suddenly from the shadows, "It's unbecoming."

He jumped to his feet, his heart racing, but instantly relaxed the second a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, a gentle expression on her face.

"Embriel? What are you doing here?"

"I came for a chat," she explained, "I felt guilty; I haven't seen you in such a long time."

He slumped back down into the chair, "Well, you'd better leave. Haven't you heard I'm heaven's most wanted? Aside from Satan, of course."

She shook her head, "What had gotten into you?"

"You mean apart from losing my entire family, losing my grace and being cast out from heaven? And did I mention that Miriana couldn't care less about me?"

A frown flitted across her face, "That's not true. She cares about you a lot."

He laughed bitterly, "No she doesn't. She's made that perfectly clear."

Embriel sighed heavily and pulled a spindly chair from the corner of the room and sat down on it, "I saw her just after the explosion at the convent. I saved her life; it seems Reuben is even more determined than ever to get his filthy hands on her."

He felt a burst of fury bolt through him at the sound of the demons name. The thought of him putting his hands on Miriana's skin made him feel physically sick.

"Reuben?" he said, fighting to reign in the anger in his voice, "Did he hurt her?"

"Not much," Embriel said, "But he won't give up until he does."

"I'll find him," he vowed, getting to his feet, "I'll kill him."

Embriel touched his arm, "You can't. I've searched everywhere for him and he's impossible to track down. If the information I have is correct, he's one of Lucifer's entourage. Apparently he's been promoted, and he has all the perks that come with it, like protection from angels."

He threw himself back down into the chair, feeling completely useless. He could have at least done one last thing for Miriana before he was undoubtedly torn into shreds by Raphael.

"It doesn't matter," Embriel continued, "Like I said, I saved her life, and I asked her if she'd seen you anywhere; I was so worried about you. She guessed something was wrong, Cas. She guessed something had happened to you, even if she didn't admit it, and she was heartbroken Cas. I saw it on her face."

He paused, remembering the tears he had seen on her face when he had found her at her motel room after he had saved the Winchesters from Zachariah, the desperate way she had clung to him like she was drowning and he was her oxygen.

"Maybe she did then," he said wearily, "But she doesn't anymore. I don't blame her. What would she see in me?"

"A good man," Embriel said firmly, "She needs time."

"I don't have time," he said, frustrated, "I'm likely to die tomorrow!"

"Then go and see her," Embriel said in a diplomatic tone, but he shook his head.

"No, it's too hard," he said miserably.

At that moment Embriel leapt to her feet, a panic evident across her features. She unfolded her huge white wings, the delicate tips of them brushing the top corners of the room. He found he had to look away from the majesty of them; his looked like pigeon's wings in comparison. It seemed that his grace was not the only thing that was fading; his wings were decaying too, leaving them threadbare and grey.

"They're looking for me," she said, "They know I was close to you, and they're hoping I'll give away your position."

She gave him one last, searching look, "I'll be in touch."

He was about to argue that there was no point contacting a dead man, but she was gone before he could even open his mouth. He slouched a little lower in the chair, sinking deeper into his misery, and waited for sunrise to come and bring the inevitability of his death with it.


	8. Cruel to be Kind

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter. Thank you so much for all the great reviews and sympathy, I really appreciate it. Unfortunately my Granddad is still in hospital and very ill, even though earlier in the week we thought he was going to die :( Anyway, enough of depressing topics! Has anyone seen the season 5 bloopers; they're hilarious! :) I thought I'd also tell you I've uploaded another story called Hell and Consequences. Basically, I liked the concept of 'The End' so much I decided that rather than just do one or two chapters I'd do a whole mini story thing, telling Miriana's story when the world ends. I'd love you guys to read it but appreciate you all have lives and stuff, but I'm just letting you know its there. There's only one chapter so far and it's rated M. I'll try and update both stories regularly, but this fic will come first. Anyway, hope you enjoy and thank you again for all the reviews and kindess. _

_PS; I forgot to add a disclaimer. I don't anything you recognize (unfortunately) ;)_

It felt odd to be alive. He had fully expected to have been turned into ash by Raphael, but here he was, sat on a park bench watching the sun set over Central Park. A few people walked past with their dogs, and further down the path a couple sauntered hand in hand, but aside from that, this part of the park was almost completely empty. He liked it here, away from the insanity of the gritty streets of New York. He couldn't even hear the sounds of the cars and the incessant blaring of the taxi horns, just the wind whispering through the trees and the soft murmur of birds in the trees.

He knew full well that the ring of holy fire he had trapped Raphael in wouldn't stay there forever, but he found he couldn't bring himself to care. It would hold for long enough. Despite that fact that he was glad to have escaped the archangel unscathed, he couldn't help but obsess over everything he'd told him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was entirely possible that Lucifer had been the one who had resurrected him in an attempt to recruit more angels. It would make sense that the fallen angel would want as many on his side as possible, and he was more than capable. He had seen what Lucifer could do when he had been at his height, rampaging around heaven, and bringing one of his brothers back from the dead would be perfectly easy for him. But if he had, why hadn't he contacted him, made an effort to tempt him over to his side. Maybe he thought it wouldn't take any persuasion; admittedly, Castiel thought that Lucifer was holding all the cards, had all the advantages. He'd rather die than join him, but he could understand the temptation. Lucifer had always been persuasive, and he had always got what he wanted. Only Michael had ever denied him anything, and that was what had led to his fall from grace.

He jumped when he phone suddenly, the shrill tone cutting through the quiet. He fumbled in his pocket and checked the number before he answered the phone.

"Miriana?" he said, surprised that she was calling him.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she shrieked. Even over the phone, the heat of her anger still seemed to scorch him. He felt his cheeks start to burn with a sudden rush of blood.

"Errr..." he began, searching his mind for an appropriate answer, but she cut across him.

"My Aunt tells me that you nearly died today, and you just thought you'd leave a message!"

"You were in bed," he said, thinking that this was possibly the weakest argument ever.

She seemed to agree with this sentiment, "So wake me up! Oh my God! I don't want to be told a person I care about has decided to go on a kamikaze death mission and I might never see him again, and that he left a message that I can't return because he's going to be dead in a few hours! What the hell?"

He winced when her voice reached a particularly high note at the end of the sentence, "I didn't want to disturb you."

He heard her take a deep breath, "I want to see you."

He couldn't help but think that sounded vaguely ominous, "Err...alright. Where are you?"

"My house," she snapped, "And hurry the fuck up!"

She hung up the phone, and feeling a slight sense of trepidation, he took a deep breath and materialized inside her bedroom, finding her standing in front of the window with her arms folded firmly across her chest.

She flung herself at him the second she saw him, and he hoped for a second she might embrace him, but the next thing he knew, her fist collided with the side of his face. It didn't hurt as much as it might have done for a human, but the shock was enough to send him stumbling backwards. It seemed she was in more pain than him as she staggered backwards, clutching her fist and swearing colourfully.

"OW!" she shrieked in registers so high he found himself wincing, "Ow, ow, ow, oh my God what are you made out of, stone?"

He rubbed his cheek, more as a knee jerk reaction than to actually soothe any bruising. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

She clutched her fist in her other hand and glared at him furiously, "Well you should be. Not only did you run off to face death without talking to me, now you've hurt my hand."

"Let me look at it," he demanded.

She shook her head, "Nuh-uh, no way. I'm still mad at you."

He rolled his eyes, frustrated, "Well you can stay mad at me while I look at your hand."

She hesitantly held out her hand to him, eyeing him suspiciously, as if she suspected him to make her punch him again. He took her hand between his very gently, turning it over, lightly running his fingertips over the back of her hand, checking for fractures. Her skin had already started to bruise an ugly blue-black colour. She winced and hissed in pain when she flexed her fingers, but there were no broken bones. He carefully released her hand.

"Its fine," he informed her, "Just a little bruised."

She snatched her hand back, still glaring at him, "You know if I had three more hands I'd break every one of them on your face."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled again.

"What were you thinking? That I just wouldn't care if you died? I'd just...get on with my life without even being the slightest bit bothered?"

"I don't know."

She rolled her eyes, "What were you doing anyway?"

"I was tracking down Raphael."

Her eyes widened, "You mean the archangel? The one who killed you? Well that was a smart idea!"

He winced when her voice reached the upper registers again, "I had to find him. He might have known where God was."

"And did he?" she asked. He shook his head.

"So you nearly died for nothing," she snapped, "You're an idiot."

"I am not," he said, affronted.

"Yes you are," she said, "And you're such a...such a man."

He frowned, "Yes, I know I am. What's wrong with that?"

She folded her arms and sighed, "Where do I begin?"

He shook his head, feeling suddenly incredibly frustrated, "You're not making any sense."

"Yeah?" she said, suddenly angry again, "You know what doesn't make any sense? Running off for some stupid suicide mission and leaving the person that cares about to get a second hand message of her aunt and sit tearing her hair out with worry for a day! I couldn't even get through to your stupid mobile for some stupid reason! God, I was worried sick! I've already lost you once and that was hell! And you don't come to me for help; no you go to Dean instead. I mean what is up with that? He's completely useless- you might have well as got a monkey for all the good he'll do. And he apparently tried to get you drunk!"

"Yeah," he admitted sheepishly.

"For God's sake!" she shrieked again, and he tried his best to ignore the constant blaspheming, "Then he took you to a whore house, am I right?"

"Yes," he muttered, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

"Oh, I'm going to throttle him! Like you'd want to go there!"

"Maybe I did," he said suddenly, raising his voice to match hers, "How would you know?"

"Oh you did, did you? Well don't let me stop you, you just go and hit it off with all your hooker friends!"

At least he finally understood what a hooker was. "Maybe I will," he snapped churlishly.

"Fine then," she snapped back.

"Fine!" he yelled.

"Fine!" she yelled back, even louder.

They both folded their arms across their chests and glared at each other across the small amount of space between them. She was being so infuriating, and he'd barely had a chance to get a word in edgeways over all the yelling and shrieking.

They stayed in silence for a few more seconds, and then suddenly Miriana burst out laughing. He frowned, watching her while she clutched her stomach and doubled over. He felt the muscles at the side of his mouth pulling upwards in a smile and an odd feeling in his stomach that spread all the way down to his toes and made him suddenly pull great breaths into his lungs. Before he knew it, he was laughing along with her, and he didn't even know why. He liked the sensation, liked the way the skin around Miriana's eyes crinkled when she really smiled, all white, perfect teeth. The noise of it was like music.

"We sound like an old married couple," she said, fighting to talk around her laughter, "That was the most stupid fight I've ever had."

"I don't think I've ever had a fight," he said, wracking his brains. The only thing that had come close to a fight was the confrontation he'd had with Dean before Lucifer had been raised. He rarely ever did any shouting himself; most of the time he was being shouted at.

"I've had plenty," she said, "I used to lay into Cristian like you wouldn't believe. He didn't seem to bother."

"I won't tell Dean you think he's less intelligent than a monkey," he said, thinking the elder Winchester wouldn't appreciate the statement.

"Thanks," she said, flashing another wide, genuine smile, "I don't think I fancy having that argument."

He nodded, "I've noticed Dean can be quite disagreeable."

She laughed again, and the sound warmed him right through to his bones, "Understatement of the century."

In his pocket, the amulet gave the slightest flare of heat, so slight most people wouldn't have noticed it; it was only because he had clutched the metal so tightly for so long, just waiting for the slightest change in temperature. It reminded him with a sudden burst that he still had an important job to do.

"I have to go," he said.

"Before you do, I have something to ask you. It seems I have to have a thirtieth birthday party according to the powers that be," she said bitterly, gesturing at the floor. He knew her aunt was sat downstairs watching television, so he assumed that was who she meant.

He frowned. According to his limited knowledge of humans, he had thought that a birthday was a good thing, not something to seem so annoyed about.

"I thought a birthday was a good thing," he said, confused.

"Not a thirtieth birthday," she muttered, "I feel so...old."

He gave her one long look. There wasn't the slightest sign of age on her face; if he didn't know better, he'd have thought she was far younger than thirty.

"I've lived for two thousand years, Miriana," he said dryly, "_I'm_ old. Compared to me you're little more than an infant."

"Yeah, but you don't look it," she said exasperatedly, "You just look like a thirty year old guy."

"You don't look old," he argued, "And besides, you've never actually seen _me_ anyway. Just my vessel."

"Huh," she said, "You've got a point. Anyway, I'm having a party thing next Saturday night, and...well...you know if you want to come, you can."

He felt warm right through to his bones again, "You wouldn't mind be being there?"

"No of course not," she exclaimed, "Aside from me and Sam, you're probably going to be the only one who's actually sober at the end of the night."

He remembered the bitter tang of the beer Dean had forced on him in the brothel and found himself inclined to agree with her. He wouldn't complain if he never tasted alcohol again.

"What about the other hunters?" he asked, "I take it they're coming. What do we tell them about...me?"

"You mean about you being an angel?" he nodded, "Well, as far as they're concerned, you're just another hunter, a friend of Dean's. It's not really that far from the truth."

The amulet gave another barely imperceptible flare in his pocket, "I really should go."

"I didn't mean to keep you," she said, "I just wanted to let you know how much of an idiot you are."

He felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly again, "I think I know now."

"And hey," she said, catching his hand before he could leave, "Don't ever do that to me again."

There was a slight smile on her lips, but there was a dark desperation in her eyes that he'd never seen before. "I won't," he promised, squeezing her fingers lightly, "I swear."

"Good," she said firmly, releasing his hand, "Now go on."

She watched him vanish from the room, then wandered over to her bed and threw herself down onto the mattress. She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, wishing that she could feel his body heat next to her. The experience of thinking she'd lost him again only brought to the surface everything she was still feeling that she had buried. The longing was sharp and uncomfortable, like razors underneath her skin, desperately trying to break through.

_Call him, _a voice in her head demanded, _stop acting like some stupid moping girl in a rom-com and call him._

She sat upright and reached across the bed for her phone were it lay on the bedside table. She scrolled down until she found his number and hovered over the dial button. Her sudden burst of bravery had faded as quickly as it had come.

Swearing, she threw her phone down the bed and slumped back against the cushions. She pulled her covers up over her head and squeezed her eyes tight shut, trying to forget him.


	9. My Obsession

_I finally managed to get over that writers block :) Hope you like this chapter; I'm worried it's a little boring, but hopefully its not. :) Anyway, a big thank you to everyone who left a review on the last chapter; I want to give you all a huge hug. I hope you're still enjoying it! :) Oh, and I also hope I got Lucifer in character in this chapter, because I'm not sure I did. :-/ Anyway, enjoy! _

It was only two days until Miriana's thirtieth birthday, and Castiel was panicking. He'd never had to worry about birthdays before; he hadn't the slightest clue when he had born. He knew it was customary to give presents on birthdays, but not only did he not know what to buy her, he didn't have any money. He couldn't simply wander into shop and just take anything he wanted. Technically speaking he could materialize into a shop, take what he wanted and leave without anyone noticing, but it felt dishonest to do that. He didn't want to hand Miriana a stolen birthday present. He needed help.

He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and scrolled through the numbers, stopping when he reached Sam's number. He'd never had much contact with Dean's damaged younger brother; Dean had been his charge and he'd had enough trouble just dealing with the older Winchester and trying to get him to act reasonably. He hadn't been bothered with the abomination and all of his depraved activities. He was just another pawn in the chessboard, but for some reason, the idea of asking Sam for help finding Miriana's present was far more appealing than going to Dean. In the few brief times he had had contact with him, Sam had always seemed the more sensitive and understanding of the two brothers. Dean had far too much bravado.

He knew the motel room they Winchesters were staying in, as he'd spoken to them yesterday and witnessed Dean paying for another night in the room. He appeared by the window, making Sam, who was reading a heavy tome whilst he ate, jump and spill half of his salad on the kitchen tiles.

"Oh...uh...hey Cas," he said, bending down to sweep the food into his hand, "How's it goin'?"

"Fine," he answered. Sam walked over to the bin and dumped his split salad into it, then returned to the table and slumped back into his seat, picking up his fork and prodding at his food.

"You okay?" he asked.

"I need some help with something."

Sam glanced around the room as if checking there was no one else, "Uh...Dean's not here."

"I don't want to speak to Dean," he said, "I think you might be better for this problem."

"Me?" Sam asked, looking completely bewildered, "Alright, uh...what is it?"

"I understand it's customary to give presents when its' someone's birthday," he began.

"Yeah."

"Well, it's Miriana's birthday on Saturday, and well, I wanted to get her something, but I...I don't really..."

"Oh," Sam said, realization dawning across his features, "You don't know what to get her."

He nodded in agreement, "And I don't have any money."

Sam leaned back in the chair, the frame creaking, "Right. How come you didn't ask Dean to help?"

"I don't think Dean is the most sensitive and understanding human being, do you?" he said dryly, "I had the distinct impression he would get a lot of sport out of this."

Sam grinned suddenly, dimples cutting into his cheeks, "Yeah, I agree with you there. As for Miriana, well she's a girl, and they love a lot of stuff."

"Like?" he prompted.

"Well, chocolate, but actually no, 'cos Miriana will complain she'll get fat."

He couldn't imagine Miriana ever being more than petite.

"She loves roses, but they always die really quickly, so maybe not...you could get her clothes, but I don't know her size so no..." he frowned, "There's alcohol, but I don't think she'd appreciate that, never mind what Dean says."

His head was beginning to hurt. She was such a complicated woman.

"Oh!" Sam said loudly, struck by sudden inspiration, "A couple of weeks ago Dean said something about a necklace that she always wore, that silver pentagram. He said it was missing and apparently she doesn't remember losing it."

He remembered with a sudden jolt the delicate necklace Zachariah had flung at him back in the garrison prison, the bloodstained sliver clutched in his palm that had once hung around her neck. One of the angels must have taken it from her when they beat her within an inch of her life.

"I remember she always wore that," Sam continued, oblivious to his sudden painful memories, "What about getting her another one?"

It seemed fitting to replace something that she had lost because of him, "Alright."

"I know a woman two states over, a friend of Pamela's who does jewellery for hunters," Sam explained, "Try there."

He stood up and rifled through his tan holdall on the bed, eventually pulling free a tattered leather journal. He flicked through the pages, finally pulling free a small cream card which he handed to Cas.

"And she'll help me?" he asked, studying the intricately designed card.

Sam nodded, "Miriana's mom used to get all her stuff there."

"Oh I forgot," Sam continued, returning to his back and tugging loose his wallet, "Money."

He handed Cas a thick wad of bills, which he took hesitantly, feeling instantly guilty. He didn't think he would ever be able to repay him.

"Are you sure you want to give me this much?" he asked.

Sam shrugged his huge shoulders, "Yeah, sure. Miriana means a lot to you, huh?"

He looked up from flicking through the bills, surprised. He wasn't aware either Winchesters knew about the relationship he had once had with Miriana; aside from Embriel and what was left of Miriana's family, he didn't think anyone else knew.

"I mean, Dean says you two are good friends," he continued when he didn't answer.

"Right," he said, unable to think of anything else.

"Dude seriously, I don't mind about the money," he said, eyeing Cas, who was still flicking through the bills with a frown across his face, "Just use it well."

"Thank you," he said, meeting Sam's eyes that were startlingly like Dean's, "I appreciate your help."

Sam shrugged his enormous shoulders, "No worries. Just get something nice."

He glanced back down at the card, "I will."

Making sure he carefully placed the card and the wad of bills in his pocket, he spread his wings and set off to find something for Miriana, feeling slightly apprehensive.

* * *

Working for Lucifer wasn't half as fun as Reuben had thought it would be. He hadn't even had the time to massacre anything yet.

He slouched in the chair in the hallway outside the executive suite of the eight hundred dollar a night hotel that Lucifer and his entourage were renting for the night, feeling thoroughly pissed off. He had been thrilled the night that meathead Sam Winchester had released Satan from the pit, but ever since he had, it had been nothing but hard work. Not one long party, just hard graft. Here he was again, waiting to receive orders, for the second time in as many days. He had thought that running with Lucifer's entourage of top demons would be the best thing he had ever done, just one extended, wonderful bloodbath, but since he had joined the big boss's group, he had done nothing but run errands. But he'd get his reward, if he was patient enough. And he already had his perfect prize in mind.

Miriana Westchild. The name made him want to rip the head of something. His fist clenched on the arm of the seat he was lounging in, nails digging into the supple black leather. She'd been his one burning obsession ever since he'd killed her precious boyfriend and she'd slipped between his fingers like water. He had killed her parents long ago, when she was just a child, simply because they'd gotten in his way. He hadn't even spared their child a second thought until she'd appeared back in his life twelve years later, all grown up, hell bent on revenge and looking utterly enticing, setting his twisted desires alight. She looked so tempting when she was full of fury, all flushed cheeks and glittering dark eyes. He was so thrilled when he stripped the skin of her pretty little boyfriend's bones, watched his blood run down between the cracks in the floor and heard her desperate screams, her pleas for mercy when the light went out of his eyes. He'd have butchered her too, if he had been given the chance; that interfering aunt of hers had brought a whole team of hunters to deal with him. They'd slaughtered every one of his coven, and he'd only just had time to smoke out of his meat suit and find somewhere to nurse his wounded pride that was still damaged to this day. His prey never got away from him, certainly not time after time after time. He could taste the phantom scent of her blood on his tongue, the vague feeling of her warm flesh delicate and completely delicate under his hands.

He was determined to have her, no matter how hard it was, and he wasn't going to make her death quick; he would drag it out as long as possible, squeeze every ounce of agony, wring every drop of blood and sanity out of her body. His whole body ran hot with desire just thinking about it. He loosened the collar of his midnight blue shirt, tugging at the tie. Just a little bit longer of being Lucifer's errand boy, and he's het anything he wanted. Or so he'd been promised, by the man himself.

He felt a spark of anticipation in his stomach every time he was called to see Lucifer, to stand in his presence and feel the raw power and anger that bubbled under the skin of his vessel. He craved power and influence; he was already feared by many demons, but he wanted more. He wanted complete dominion; in short, he wanted Lucifer's job. More than anything, he wanted the strength Lucifer possessed, enough to challenge the host of heaven, to turn those winged bastards into nothing but ashes.

He hated them, some more than others. Like...what was his name? Castiel, that pretty little blue eyed seraph that hovered around Miriana like some particularly tenacious guard dog. He was strong, and he'd torn the faces off more than a few things in his time, but he wasn't strong enough to take on an angel and win. Yet. With blue eyes lingering around her, she was untouchable. He couldn't get within a few feet of her without him knowing. Twice he'd snatched her from his grasp; literally. He felt a slow burn of jealousy every time he thought about the angel, close enough to Miriana to hear her heartbeat and smell the perfume of her skin and hair. He was determined to get rid of the persistent celestial bastard; if he couldn't have Miriana, no one could.

From what he'd heard from his demons that kept a watch over the Winchesters and their friends, removing the angel from the picture might not be as difficult as he had once thought. From what he could gather, he had been cut off from heaven, cast out for rebelling against his superiors, stuck in his vessel with his heavenly powers fading fast. Not so much of a threat anymore, and certainly not enough to protect Miriana. And once he was out of the way, it would be easy to get out of reach from the Winchesters, so the aggravating brothers wouldn't be able to get to her until it was too late. He could picture their faces when they found her bloodied, shattered corpse. It would be a shame to ravage something so beautiful, he supposed, but he thought she would look far better glassy eyed and soaked in blood. It was just a personal preference.

At that moment a door at the end of the lushly carpeted hall swung open and Meg, Lucifer's favourite grandchild, stepped out, her long cappuccino coloured curls glossy and sleek against the dark purple fabric of her shirt. She smiled a wide cat-like grin, and motioned inside the dim room.

"He's ready for you," she called.

He got up gracefully from his chair, stretching like a hunting cat. He swept towards the door, his leather boots sinking into the thick cream carpet.

"Meg," he said, inclining his head.

"Rueben," she purred, running a hand over his chest, nails scratching lightly against the fabric of his shirt, "You look good."

He removed her hand forcibly with a cold smile, "Never in a million years, babe. You're not my type. Besides, I don't date the boss's granddaughter."

The smirk dropped from her face. "Your loss," she hissed, stepping back with a flounce of her curls.

He stepped into the room, instantly feeling Lucifer's power wash over him like a wave of dry heat in summer. He could even smell it lingering in the room, a sharp clean scent, like ozone. He shut the door behind him but didn't move any further into the room, out of respect. The only light source in the room was a single amber light on a desk, and all he could see of Lucifer was his silhouette against the long windows, stark black in the white silver light from the moon.

"Reuben," Lucifer said, turning from his intense scrutiny of the night sky, "How are you?"

He always struck by his politeness. Azazel had never been like that.

"I'm fine, sir," he said respectfully, "How are you?"

Lucifer stepped forwards into the pool of light around the desk, and the dull gleam reflected in his eyes like a blaze of fire. He smiled, flashing the white even teeth of his host.

"I'm wonderful," he said, easing himself down into the leather chair behind the desk, "Take a seat."

He moved into the room and carefully sat down in the chair facing the desk, taking care to keep his posture upright.

"I have to thank you for that large amount of demon blood you...procured for me," he said, leaning back, the leather squeaking, "Unfortunately this vessel of mine does need some sustenance to keep in one piece. I don't have the time to ensure I get all the blood I need, so I must thank you."

"You're welcome sir," he said in response, unable to stop himself from feeling flush with pride.

"I hear from my sources that you are a particularly useful soldier," he said, steepling his fingers and regarding him closely.

"I...I'm not sure," he said, fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. He felt like he was being x-rayed, every part of him stripped back and laid bare.

"Hmmm. Modesty. I appreciate that," Lucifer mused, getting back to his feet and turning back to the long windows, "You don't see it often in demons."

He wondered if he imagined the slight hint of venom in his tone when he spoke the word 'demons'.

"I appreciate how loyal you've been," he continued, still gazing out of the windows, "How tirelessly you've carried out your orders. I think a promotion to my closest attendants is at hand."

"What do you think?" he asked, turning away from the midnight blue sky, facing him again.

"I'd be honoured," he said, fighting to keep a note of glee out of his voice. "Sir," he added quickly.

Lucifer nodded, "Excellent."

He turned back to the window once more and there was a final note in his tone, which Reuben took as his cue to leave. He pushed the chair back and headed towards the door, feeling a sudden surge of mirth. Before his hand could brush the door handle, Lucifer spoke one last time.

"If you continue the way you have," he called softly, "They may be several rewards coming your way. I presume you have something in mind?"

A sudden image of Miriana sprang to mind, fear glimmering in her dark beautiful eyes, sharp as knives, "Yes. I definitely do."

He moved for the door once more, and the devil spoke once more, his voice soft in the gloom.

"Take the night off," he said, "You've deserved it."

"Thank you sir," he said, biting his lip to hide his grin. The timing couldn't be more perfect. A visit to his favourite little infatuation was needed.

Only once he was in the deserted corridor did he allow an inhuman smile to creep across his features, warping the handsome, high cheek-boned face of his host. All he needed was a little patience, and everything would fall into place.


	10. Keep Your Hands off my Girl

_First off; I'm really sorry I took me so long to update, but I have two main reasons. Since I started back at college I've had tons of work and I haven't got back into the swing quite yet. Also, I was kind of worried about the lack of reviews, and I wasn't very happy with my writing, so I went and rewrote a load of stuff to make it better. I kind of figured that people agreed that it wasn't so great. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I hope I can keep people interested, and a big thanks to all of you who read, review and leave favourites, I really appreciate it. And on another note, did anyone watch the season six premiere? Unfortunately I have to watch it on the internet 'cos its not out in England for ages. :) :)_

On the day of the party, Miriana had been restricted to her room by her aunt, who spent most of the afternoon dashing around the house, yelling at Nate for not laying the table properly or not putting the banner up in the right place. She slouched on her bed in her scruffy pyjamas for most of the day, not in the mood to get ready. For reasons she couldn't fathom, she felt an odd sense of foreboding, like something bad was hovering just around the corner. She just put it down to nerves over the party; she never liked being the centre of attention. She flicked through several of her books, trying to get her mind off the coil of anxiety in her stomach.

When seven o'clock started drawing a little closer, she heaved herself off the bed and stumbled into the shower, scraping shampoo and conditioner through her knotted hair, loosening the tangles. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel and roughly dried her hair into a casual disarray of soft spikes, spraying copious amounts of hairspray to keep the style in place. She emptied her make up onto the bed and rifled through the contents, unsure of what to do. Her aunt would tell her to do natural make-up, but she loved her eyeliner too much. She brushed thick grey metallic eye shadow onto her lids, and blended thick black eyeliner into the silver, working until her eyes looked suitably deep set and smoky. She applied a layer of mascara and foundation and stepped back to admire her handiwork, fluffing her hair a few last times.

She turned to her wardrobe, staring at the clothes, sorely tempted to throw her jeans and thick jumper on. She didn't dare; she knew full well if she didn't glam up, her aunt would march her back upstairs and jam her into the nearest dress.

She eventually settled on a backless black dress that was gathered around her waist and stopped just above her knee, the material layered with net so it fluttered and flounced around her thighs. She pulled a pair of elegant black stilettos from the bottom of her wardrobe, walking around her room a few times to get used to the sudden increase in height on such precarious footing. She scrutinized herself in the mirror, surprised by the way she looked. She hadn't felt so...pretty or feminine in such a long time. She'd bought the dress in a boutique a few years ago, but she still fit into it perfectly, the material clinging in all the right places, the perfect length to show off her legs without her feeling like a tart. She pulled slender silver earrings and bracelets from her jewellery box, applying one last coat of lipstick before she went downstairs for her aunt's opinion.

She froze on the landing when she heard voices from the kitchen, feeling suddenly vulnerable and overly made up. She glanced at the clock at the top of the stairs; she hadn't realised how close it was to seven o'clock. She crept down the stairs, lingering in the hallway to try and work out who was there by the sound of the voice. She instantly recognized them the closer she got; Sam and Dean.

"Well, you certainly brought plenty of beer," her aunt was saying.

"Yeah well you know, I can hold my liquor," Dean said cheerfully.

She poked her head around the doorway of the kitchen, determined not to let them see her outfit.

Sam was leaning against the counter, taking up the entire corner of the kitchen with his muscular bulk. Dean was sat on the countertop, clutching a beer and kicking his legs back and forth like a little kid. Bobby was parked in his wheelchair next to Sam, wearing a clean shirt for a change, but with his grotty trucker cap still firmly lodged on his head.

"Oh hey Miriana," Sam said, a wide grin breaking out across his face, "Happy birthday."

"Err...thanks," she said nervously, "Aunty, I just need to talk to you for a sec."

Her aunt looked up from slicing a cheesecake into neat eighths, "What about, hun?"

"Errm...my dress."

"Why?"

She glanced at Dean, who winked at her, "I just need you to make sure I look okay."

Eve rolled her eyes and wiped her sticky fingers on her apron, following Miriana into the hall.

"Oh sweetie," she gushed, "You look beautiful."

"Are you sure I don't just look like a tart?" she asked.

"Of course not," she grabbed hold of Miriana and steered her into the kitchen, which was painfully bright after the dim hall. She squinted under the bright spotlights, feeling like some specimen in tank about to be dissected.

"Doesn't she look beautiful, boys?"

Both Sam and Dean were staring at her legs like they weren't aware she had any.

"Yeah," Bobby said gruffly, "Real pretty, Miriana."

Sam coughed loudly, forcibly moving his gaze up from her legs and to her face, "You look stunning. Doesn't she Dean?"

Dean blinked a few times, the expression on his face similar to that of someone who'd just been whacked round the back of the head by a baseball bat. Sam cast him a furtive glance, then stomped on his foot, as subtly as he could manage.

"What?" he said dazedly, "Yeah, uh...you look great."

"Not like a hooker," he added hastily.

"Thank you," she said dryly. That was the highest of compliments, coming from Dean.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Sam said suddenly, breaking the slightly awkward silence, "Happy birthday."

He handed Miriana a package wrapped sloppily in newspaper and sealed with great quantities of cello tape.

"Sorry about the wrapping," Sam said apologetically, "I told Dean to leave it but..."

Dean turned to Sam, looking affronted. "What's wrong with it?" he demanded,

"It looks like a two year old wrapped it," Sam said, rolling his eyes.

Just as Dean opened his mouth to argue, she said hastily, "Guys it really doesn't matter what the wrapping's like."

Dean flashed his brother an 'I told you so' look.

Miriana pulled the newspaper off, struggling with the thick bands of cello tape, revealing a smooth black leather box. She flipped it open, revealing a crimson velvet lined box in the middle of which lay an elegant silver charm bracelet. She pulled it out carefully, scrutinizing each of the charms; there was a delicate pentagram, a tiny replica of a key of Solomon and a pair of intricate angel's wings, among other things.

"It's like my mom had when she was young," Dean said, taking a swig of beer, "I thought you'd...you know, like it."

"I love it," she breathed, feeling slightly choked, "It's beautiful."

She hugged the both of them tightly, then fastened the bracelet around her wrist, admiring the way the silver looked against her pale skin. At that moment, the doorbell rang and Eve shrieked and trotted off to answer the door.

"You just gonna forget about my present, girl?" Bobby growled, handing her a small leather box. Inside the box was a pair of slender earrings fashioned in the shape of thin, delicate wings.

"I love them, Bobby," she exclaimed, swapping her crystal studs for them.

"Thought you might appreciate them, since you and angel boy are so close," he said, a knowing tone in his voice. She blushed furiously, glad Sam and Dean were bickering and couldn't hear them. Bobby tipped her a wink.

"Miriana!" her aunt squawked suddenly, "Guests!"

She took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hall.

Being the centre of attention wasn't quite as bad as she had thought. It was nice to not feel like she was just part of the wall.

Her aunt's house was full of people, all of them hunters. Ethan and his group of hunters had come, laden down with beer, and Nate had invited several of his friends from the local hunter's bar, the Night Shade. Truthfully, she avoided them most of the night; they eyed her like she was a piece of meat, and when she tried speaking to them, she noticed their eyes stayed distinctly south of her face.

Everyone had brought presents, and Miriana felt slightly spoiled. Her aunt and Nate had saved up between them to buy her an iPhone, which Dean spent most of the night fiddling with until she eventually stormed over and took it off him, worried that in his slightly inebriated state he might spill beer on it or drop it.

Nate had set up a pair of speakers and he pumped his music through them so loudly the foundations of the house seemed to tremble. Miriana was amazed to find that Eve didn't complain once about the volume, although she suspected the amount of alcohol she was consuming helped. Several times people had tried to pull her onto the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room, but she bluntly refused each time. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to make get up and dance. As Dean got progressively more and more drunk, he attempted to pick her up and drag her onto the dance floor, and it took Sam and his immense strength to prise him off her, after which he promptly collapsed into the nearest chair, yelling something about more beer. Sam simply rolled his eyes and dashed off to find another bottle before his older brother started breaking things.

She was enjoying herself far more than she thought she would, but she felt oddly restless. Cas hadn't come. She wasn't sure that she had really expected him too; social situations were not exactly his forte, and he knew it, but she would have liked to have seen him, at least briefly. He meant as much to her as her family and Sam and Dean, and she couldn't imagine her birthday without any of them. He had seemed so pleased to be invited too.

Halfway through the night, as things got slightly rowdier, she gathered her presents together, deciding to take them upstairs out of harm's way. She struggled up the stairs with the heavy load, depositing them as carefully as she could on her bed. Turning to the mirror, she gave herself a brief once over, running her fingers through her hair a few times to give it back the volume it had lost. She tugged at her dress, straightening it over her hips, then she turned to leave her bedroom and walked straight into someone's chest.

"Arrgh!" she squeaked, almost losing her balance on her precarious heels. Someone grabbed her elbow to steady her, and she looked up straight into a pair of blue eyes.

"You should be more careful," Cas said.

"Jesus," she gasped, laying a hand over her chest, "I wish you wouldn't do that."

He took a few steps backwards, "Sorry. I forget."

With the distance between them, he seemed to properly take her in. His eyes travelled slowly, all the way from her smoky eyes down to her toes, his gaze like a caress against her skin. She could feel herself blushing furiously, the fiery burn in her cheeks crawling down to her throat and chest. She wondered if he could see it in the dim light of the room.

"You look..." he tailed off, his eyes still passing over her bare legs and shoulders, "You look..."

He paused for a long moment, and he seemed to be struggling to talk around the catch in his throat.

"You look beautiful," he finally said, forcibly moving his gaze back up to her eyes.

The blush intensified, the blaze underneath her skin suddenly painfully uncomfortable.

"Thank you," she whispered.

His eyes seemed to smoulder, the blue the colour of the night just before midnight, dark and fierce. The feel of his gaze on her made her knees feel weak, the fire underneath her skin to sink deeper, right into her blood and bones. She took a deep breath to ease her spinning head.

"Err..." she said weakly, "I should...probably go back...downstairs..."

He dropped his gaze back to the floor suddenly, and she let out a muffled sigh of relief.

"I...have something to give you," he said, reaching into his pocket. She wasn't sure if she was imagining the slight shake of his hands when he pulled a small box free.

"What?" she asked, confused.

He frowned, tilting his head to the side, "I thought it was customary to give presents on birthdays?"

"Yeah, it is," she said, "I just...didn't expect you to get me one."

He passed the box to her, his fingers brushing very softly against hers. He couldn't seem to meet her eyes now; he kept them fixed on the floor.

She flipped it open, revealing an intricate silver charm set with pale white stones, on an elegant silver chain, nestled on midnight blue velvet. She traced her fingers over the delicate piece of jewellery, feeling tears welling up in the back of her eyes.

"It's beautiful," she said in a choked voice, "I can't believe you did this."

He caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, and she saw disappointment flash across his eyes, "Don't you like it?"

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, "It's just...you shouldn't have."

"I wanted to," he said softly, "It was my fault you lost the last one."

She removed her other necklace and pulled the pentagram chain from its box, holding it carefully and almost reverently. She laid it against her neck, fumbling to fasten the chain.

"Here," he said, moving to stand behind her, "Let me."

She was hyper aware of his body heat against her bare back and his fingers hovering close to her skin, lightly brushing against the nape of her neck, just once. She drew in a deep trembling breath.

"There," he said, letting the chain fall against her skin.

"Thank you," she whispered, suddenly unable to find her voice.

She caught sight of herself in the mirror, all flushed cheeks and dark, glittering eyes, the pendant gleaming dully against her chest, the silver a perfect match for her skin tone. He hadn't moved away from her, and he was staring at their shared reflection like he had never seen her properly before. She hadn't even seen herself with him; they looked good together, she thought. There was something very natural about the two of them, as if they were two halves of one whole.

She tensed when she felt his fingers run up her bare spine, teasing against the skin, tracing the shape of her shoulder blades. She unconsciously arched against him, her head falling back against his firm shoulder, melting from the inside out, tension simmering inside her. He pressed a soft kiss to her neck, his tongue flicking out just briefly, tasting her skin, his fingers still stroking the sleek line of her spine. She let her eyes flutter shut, a coil of desire flaring in the pit of her stomach.

He turned her around gently in his arms, moving his lips from her neck and up to her mouth, his kiss sweet and hesitant. She wrapped her arms around his neck, glad for once that she didn't have to stand on her tip toes. His hands were splayed across her bare back, feeling the flutter of her heartbeat through her ribcage. The party and the people downstairs faded away, the music little but a dull thud in her ears. Her fingers slid up into his hair, teasing through the short lengths, and he let out a contented noise into her mouth.

She pulled her lips away from his, taking a deep breath. "I have a party to get back to," she whispered.

He muttered an acknowledgement, then kissed her again, crushing her tighter to him, hands sliding right down to the base of her spine, just above where the line of her dress stopped.

"I really should..." she started, but his lips were against hers again, and all coherent thought was chased away. She wanted to be somewhere very far away from here, somewhere lonely and secluded with him. The tension inside her was winding tighter and tighter like a spring, and she was certain she would snap if something didn't ease it. Her legs felt weak, her stomach fluttering with nerves. She couldn't help but think she was very close to doing things she'd only ever fantasised about.

She was just about to pull away and ask him to take her somewhere when a loud voice cut through the hush in her room.

"Miriana?"

They both jerked away from each other, Miriana unconsciously straightening her dress.

"Yes?" she called, wincing at the very obvious shake in her voice.

A moment later, Ethan's head appeared around the door frame, "Oh...uh...hey. Your aunt wants to see you, something about a cake?"

"Oh right, tell her I'll be down in a moment."

Ethan's eyes moved past her and settled on Cas, "Oh hey. I don't think we've met, I'm Ethan."

He stepped into the room and held out his hand. There was one second of total awkwardness when it looked like he wouldn't return the gesture, but he shook his hand firmly. She inwardly let out a sigh of relief.

"Castiel," he said formally, releasing Ethan's hand.

"Nice to meet you," Ethan said, "You a hunter?"

"He's a friend of Dean's," Miriana said, cutting across him before he could reply, "He just...needed to talk to me about something."

"Right," Ethan said, flashing Cas a wide smile, "Are you gonna come downstairs?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," she said, reaching a hand up to smooth her hair, hoping neither of them would notice how much she was trembling.

He flashed her another side smile and disappeared from the doorway.

"Errmm..." Miriana said, suddenly aware of the crushing awkward tension that had suddenly descended on the room, "You can...come downstairs if you want? They're a bit rowdy, but..."

He hesitated for a long moment, "If you don't mind?"

"No!" she exclaimed, a little too loudly, "No, of course not!"

He headed for the door, then stood to one side, gesturing her through it first. She tottered across the landing and down the stairs, her knees shaking uncontrollably. He was right behind her, and she was very aware of how close their bodies were.

Just before she reached the door to the dining room, where she could see the vivid glow of the candles on the cake, he caught her arm, long fingers gripping loosely around her wrist. He leaned his head down, so his mouth was right against her ear, and she could feel the whisper of his breath across it.

"I forgot to say," he murmured, "Happy birthday."

He released her arm and swept gracefully into the room in front of her, leaving her swaying on the spot, breathless and dizzy.

Cas was finding it hard to take his eyes off her. He felt like a blind man who had suddenly been given the gift of sight; he hadn't seen her clearly before at all. She looked like even more of an exquisite piece of art than ever before. He had arrived at the firm conclusion that she should wear dresses more often.

He stayed in the corner of the room most of the night, avoiding as much human contact as possible. He couldn't handle normal human conversation at the best of times, especially not when said humans were drunk. Miriana kept flitting over to him throughout the night, but her attention was soon captured by someone else wanting to talk to her, or dance with her. He was grateful in a way; whenever she did talk to him he spent most of the conversation straining to keep his eyes trained away from the smooth skin of her legs or the plunging neckline of her dress. He felt quite ashamed, and as much as he loved the view the dress gave him, he found himself wishing she would wear something that covered her up a little more. It might make it easier for him to keep his eyes on hers instead of wandering somewhere else.

He didn't recognize many people in the room, but he knew they were all hunters. They all had the same poised grace, the same look of people that lived dangerous lives, subtle signs; the gun calluses on their fingers, the flashes of silver charms and black ink tattoos, the scars on their skin. They all felt like hunters to him, they all carried the storm of guilt and hatred inside them that he had seen in both Dean and Miriana, the fire that drove hunters to a lifestyle of pain and blood. Many of them seemed particularly inebriated, including Dean, who kept grabbing hold of Miriana and crushing her in a tight hug, declaring to anyone who would listen that he 'loved this pretty awesome chick' and 'thought she had a nice rack.' He wasn't entirely sure what a 'rack' was in this context, but he had a feeling it was some sort of lecherous comment, knowing Dean' penchant for unashamed flirting with every woman in the room. It took a considerable amount of effort not to storm over and drag her away.

Eventually Dean released Miriana when Sam asked him if he wanted another beer, which she looked eternally grateful for. He snatched another bottle off his younger brother, then stumbled over and threw himself into the seat next to Cas's.

"Cas!" he exclaimed, clapping him on the shoulder so hard he was almost knocked out of his seat, "I am so glad you're here, dude!"

"Thank you," he muttered.

Dean took a long swig of beer, leaning back in his seat. "She looks pretty hot, doesn't she?" he said, gesturing with his beer bottle in Miriana's direction.

"If 'hot' in this circumstance means attractive, then yes she looks quite good," he said, determined not to get drawn into a conversation.

"Quite nothing, man, you've been checking her out all night," Dean said, "In fact, you check her out all the time."

"I do not...'check her out'," he said in as dignified a tone as he could manage.

Dean snorted derisively, "Yeah you do. I might not seem like the type of guy that's into emotions and all that chick flick crap, but I notice stuff, dude."

He didn't say anything to this, just glowered at the wall. He decided he did not like drunken Dean.

"I don't hear you arguing," Dean continued, "You're head over heels in love with her, dude."

He felt his cheeks flush furiously with heat. He had no idea Dean was so perceptive; he had always thought he controlled his emotions around her quite well when other people were involved. If anything, he would have thought Sam would have been the more sensitive of the two Winchesters.

"I am not."

"You are."

"I am not."

"You are."

He rolled his eyes, bored with the childish argument; he was even more infuriating than normal when he had swallowed copious quantities of alcohol.

"I mean dude, come on," Dean said, "I saw the two of you months ago, just after we met Chuck, chewing each other's faces off. Not something I ever want to see again, for future reference."

"Sorry," he muttered.

"I know she gets all stressy sometimes," he said, watching Miriana as she wriggled out of her aunt's crushing hug, "But it's just the way she is. She loves you, man."

His heart gave a little flip in his chest. He glanced at Dean, who heaved a huge sigh.

"You're lucky," he said, and Cas could detect a note of longing in his voice, "I sometimes all the shit I deal with might be easier if I had someone like her to lean on."

He suddenly turned to Cas, clapping a hand on his arm, "You have to promise me something."

He nodded, alarmed at the sudden change of tone in Dean's voice.

"I've seen the future, Cas," he said, "I've seen what happens if Lucifer wins. And you and Miriana..."

He frowned; he wasn't sure he wanted to hear what was about to come.

"I saw the two of you," he continued, his voice hollow, "She was scarred and bitter and you were out of it on drugs, neck deep in women. She hated you. She wouldn't look at you."

The sudden revelation of his future made him feel sick; what was he going to do to Miriana that would make her feel so much hatred towards him? And neck deep in women? He had already established he had no interest in any way towards any woman but Miriana. She was everything to him.

"What did I do?" he asked urgently, "Why did she hate me?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno. But you've gotta hold onto her, dude. Just...don't let it happen."

At that moment Sam appeared, "I'm sorry; I just gotta talk to Dean for a second."

Dean stood up to leave, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Wait Dean, what-" Cas started, but he was already out of earshot, supported by Sam, leaving him alone to obsess over his bleak prophecy for his future.

It was wonderfully cool outside, refreshing to Miriana's overheated skin, drying the perfumed sweat. She heaved the bulging bag of glass bottles into the recycling, letting the lid slam shut. She glanced up at the velvet blue sky, strewn with a handful of glittering stars. She loved nights like these, clear and cold enough that her breath frosted in front of her.

She was shivering in her skimpy little dress, so she headed back towards the warmth of the house, picking her way carefully across the gravel. She rounded the corner of the house and walked straight into a broad chest, stumbling a little in her heels.

She looked up, half expecting to meet a familiar pair of blue eyes, but the eyes she met were considerably darker and colder.

"Hey baby," Reuben crooned, "You miss me?"

He placed his hands flat against her shoulders, shoving her hard against the wall. Her bare back slammed against the rough stone, grazing her skin, and she cried out in pain before she could stop herself.

He lifted a finger to her lips, "Hush, hush now. Wouldn't want to upset the neighbours."

"What do you want?" she hissed. She tried to sound fearless, but the shake in her voice gave her away.

"Oh nothing much," he said, his hands still digging into her shoulder so hard she knew he'd leave bruises, "Just came to wish you happy birthday."

"Charming," she spat, "Now you can leave."

"Oh not yet," he said cheerfully, "I've got the night off. Nothing to do for the big man. In fact, I've been promoted."

"Congratulations," she said bitterly, "You must be so thrilled."

"I am actually," he said, releasing his iron hard grip on her shoulders and stepping back, "All I've gotta do is work a little bit harder for a few months, and then I get all the rewards I want. And you know what's number one on my list? You are baby doll."

She felt her stomach drop right down to the floor, and her heart started to flutter with panic. She didn't like the sound of that. If he was working for Lucifer and he had promised him rewards, it didn't matter how well she hid herself from him, he would find her. She wouldn't be able to run, and she would have nowhere to hide.

"I've had you in mind for quite a long time now, sweetheart," he murmured, running his hand down the neckline of her dress, his fingers dipping beneath the fabric to trace the scar he had left her, years ago, "You're the perfect little infatuation."

He shoved her back against the wall again, closing his long slender fingers around her throat, constricting her windpipe. She couldn't breathe; lights began to dance before her eyes.

He pressed himself right against her, chest crushing hers, and she winced, squeezing her mouth tight shut to stop the disgusted noise that threatened to escape.

He leaned his mouth right up against her ear, and she felt his hot breath play across the skin of her neck, "Just a little warning, honey. You'd better watch your back, because when I come for you, not even your precious angel will be able to stop me."

"Are you really going to try something here?" she rasped, fighting to stop the trembling that was racking her muscles.

He stepped back, but didn't release his hold, "No. I'm not stupid. I know there's a houseful of hunters and an angel in there."

He glanced down at her chest, "Speaking of which," he began, "Did your little seraph get this for you?"

He lifted the pentagram with the tips of his fingers as if it disgusted him, "How sweet. You know the two of you make me sick."

He licked his lips, his eyes travelling slowly over her body, "I can practically taste all the lust in you," he lifted her wrist to his mouth, inhaling deeply like he was scenting perfume, "I can smell it in your blood. Not getting what you want from your heavenly little cherub?"

"Fuck you," she hissed.

"Oooh definitely all worked up," he crooned, "You know I could quite easily deal with all that frustration if he won't do it for you."

She lifted her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist, gripping her so tightly she felt certain she heard the bones crack, "Ah-ah. No violence."

He twisted her wrist savagely and she cried out in pain; the noise of it seemed to excite him. The handsome face of his host was twisted with sick desire, his eyes dark and pale cheeks flushed.

"Miriana?" came Sam's voice from around the corner.

Reuben froze for a brief second, then lifted her hand to the back of his mouth and pressed an uncharacteristically tender kiss to it.

"See you soon, sweetheart," he whispered, vanishing before her eyes, leaving her shaking and clutching her bruised wrist to her chest.

"Miriana?" Sam asked again, appearing around the corner.

She didn't respond at first, still feeling Reuben's cold hands on her skin, and Sam touched her shoulder lightly, wincing when she jumped.

"Hey," he said softly, "You okay? I thought I heard you shout."

"Yes," she said, aware her voice had a slightly hysterical edge to it, "I just uh...tripped in my heels."

"Okay," said Sam, frowning slightly, "You coming back in?"

"Yeah, just give me a sec," she replied. He nodded, flashing her a smile, then headed back inside.

She waited until she was certain his footsteps vanished, then she slumped back against the wall, hyperventilating, her heart throbbing a panicked rhythm in her chest.


	11. Takin' Care of Business

_Okay, first of all I need to apologize for how late this update is. It's been really tough recently, losing both my grandparents so quickly, and college hasn't helped by dumping an incredible amount of work on me. We've only just buried my Grandma today and I'm still grieving for both losses, and I can tell you that grief really takes it out of you. I can only apologize and hope that you'll still stick with me, because I really appreciate all your great reviews and favourites and everything else :) Thank for all the reviews on the last chapter and the last chapter of Hell and consequences, that will be updated as soon as I can, as will this. I'm really sorry again, and I hope you like this chapter. It gets good soon I promise :) Thank you again. _

Miriana was up early in the morning, cleaning up the mess from the night before. It felt good to be back in flat shoes, instead of tottering around in thin heels the size of the Eiffel tower. Both her Aunt and Nate were fast asleep, as were Sam and Dean who had stayed the night in a spare room. She slipped outside with yet another bulging bag of bottles for the recycling, breathing in a deep breath of the clear early morning air. She dumped the huge bag inside the recycling bin, and then headed across the well kept lawn, throwing herself down onto the bench that overlooked the drop down to the lake. This had apparently been her uncle's favourite spot, before he died. She had never known Eve's husband; Billy had died long before Miriana had come to live with her aunt, killed by a group of particularly vicious and dangerous vampires. Eve rarely talked about him, and Miriana didn't push the subject. She knew how hard it was to talk about Cristian, and she didn't to inflict the same pain on her aunt.

The sun was just rising over the lake, chasing away the deep powder blue colour of the night sky, turning the lake the colour of bronze, dazzling on the eyes. There was a faint breeze that stirred the trees, the air filled with the soft rustling of the leaves brushing over one another. If it got hotter later on, she was tempted to go swimming in the lake, something she hadn't done for a long time.

She heard heavy footsteps behind her, and turned to see Sam walking across the lawn towards her, dressed in weathered jeans and a grey plaid shirt.

"Mornin'," he said, "I thought I heard you get up."

"Yeah, I couldn't sleep," she said, "I thought I might as well get some cleaning done. I don't think my aunt or Nate will be doing any with the size of the hangover they'll have."

Sam smiled as he sat down on the bench beside her, "Yeah, they got pretty rowdy last night, huh?"

"Pretty rowdy is a bit of an understatement," she said.

"I'm sorry about Dean," Sam said nervously, "He was a nightmare last night."

"Don't worry about it," Miriana said with a smile, "He's harmless."

Sam eyes travelled down to her neck, and he carefully picked up the pentagram charm, lifting it away from her neck, "This is pretty."

"Yeah," she said, glancing down at the flash of silver around her neck, "Cas got it for me."

"Oh, I'm glad he made a good choice."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, "You knew he was getting me a present?"

"Yeah, he came to me and asked me if I knew anything you wanted," Sam explained, "I gave him the name of that jeweller that crafts stuff for hunters."

"Well, thank you for your help," she said, nudging his shoulder with her own, "I love it."

He let the necklace fall back against her neck and then froze, frowning.

"What is this?" he asked, touching the base of her neck lightly. She winced when she felt the ring of bruises Reuben had given her. She hadn't realized they were so obvious.

"Oh it's nothing I just...uh...fell," she finished lamely.

Sam raised his eyebrows at her, expression sceptical, "On your neck?"

"Yeah," she said tentatively.

"Miriana," Sam said in a stern voice, "What the hell happened? Who gave you these?"

She sighed heavily, "There's this demon, he just...has a bit of issue with me."

"Would this be the same demon that almost killed you?" Sam said in a dark voice, "I thought he'd left you alone."

She let out a nervous little laugh, "Apparently not. I get the impression he wants a bloody good time with me. Emphasis on the bloody part."

Sam looked at her incredulously, "How can you be so blasé about this Miriana? He's almost killed you twice, and he obviously has a bone the size of Texas to pick with you."

"He's threatened me before, and I've always got away from him," she said calmly, although her heart was tripping like a jackhammer in her chest.

"You didn't say anything about him threatening you!" Sam exclaimed, "Why didn't you tell me and Dean he was here last night?"

"I didn't really have chance, Sam," she said, "He sort of...jumped me."

Sam took a deep breath, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white. She had no idea Sam could be so protective.

"What did he say?" he asked in a tightly controlled voice.

"Just the usual," she said, waving her hand airily, "I'm gonna rip your guts out, make you scream etcetera, etcetera."

"And when is he planning on doing this?" Sam asked.

She rolled her eyes, "I haven't got a clue. He didn't exactly give me a date."

"Why has he suddenly resurfaced now?"

She sighed heavily, slumping back against the cool metal wire frame of the bench, "What's with all the questions, Sam? Look I don't know okay, something to do with a promotion into Lucifer's entourage."

"Lucifer!" Sam exclaimed, and Miriana winced, glancing back at the house, half expecting his voice to wake the others up. She didn't need anyone else interfering with the situation between her and Reuben.

Sam lowered his voice a little, "Miriana, if he's one of Lucifer's top demons, you've gotta be careful. You can't fight him off."

"I have already gathered that Sam," she said dryly, "I am aware of how powerful Reuben is. I've tangled with him before, remember.

"Promise me if he finds you again, you'll tell us," Sam said, "Promise?"

She rolled her eyes, "Fine. Brownie's honour, cross my chest, hope to die, all that bullshit."

Sam slumped back against the seat, "You're such a pain in the ass. You're the only person I know that doesn't ask for help when a demon has promised to torture them to death."

"Yeah, well at least I didn't start the apocalypse," she said jokingly.

"Shut up bitch," he quipped, a smile playing around his lips. A comfortable silence fell between the two of them.

After a long moment, Sam finally broke the silence, "Miriana, can I ask you something?"

"Of course," she said, unable to shake off the feeling she wasn't going to like what was coming next.

"Do you believe in destiny?" he asked.

She turned to face him, confused, "Destiny?"

"Yeah you know. What do you think about it?"

"I...um..." she couldn't think of anything to say, as taken off guard as she was, "I don't think I've ever really thought about it, but...no. I'd say I don't believe in it. I'd like to think we're the only ones in charge of our own lives. I don't like the idea of a predestined path."

He said nothing to this, simply cast his gaze out over the lake, now turning steadily gold as the sun rose higher over the horizon, his eyes raging with conflict.

"What is this about, Sam?" she asked, sensing there was something going on she didn't know about.

He took deep and hesitated, as if unsure of what to say next, "A couple of weeks ago, Lucifer came to me."

She turned to face him, her eyes wide, "How? I thought you were shielded against him?" She thought with a sudden surge of panic of the carvings on her own ribs, and whether or not they were as effective as she thought.

"It was a dream," he answered, instantly quelling the burst of panic, "He somehow got into my head, and he said some...stuff."

"Like what?" she asked apprehensively.

"You know he needs a vessel, right?" she nodded briefly in response, "Well I'm his vessel. His true vessel. And Dean is Michael's true vessel, and apparently we're supposed to step up to the roles destiny has given us, let them take us and beat the crap out of each other."

She blew out a long breath, slumping back heavily against the bench, "That's rather a lot of information to digest in a few seconds."

"I don't want this weight on my shoulders, Miriana," he said quietly, "I'm terrified I can't fight this."

"Didn't either of you two geniuses think to tell me this?" she demanded, completely ignoring what he had just said.

"We didn't think that-"

"You didn't think what?" she snapped, jumping to her feet, suddenly gripped by a savage fury, "Don't tell that stupid bitch Miriana, she's no help. We don't need to tell her anything, just let her keep blundering along, completely in the dark!"

"No that's not-"

"You know, this is typical of the two of you, dumping all of your crap on everyone else!"

"I'm sorry-"

"Miriana," someone was saying quietly, but she completely ignored it.

"Just leave it to someone else to tell her, that's usually what you do isn't it!" her voice was getting louder and louder and shriller and shriller.

"Miriana," the voice said again, but she continued to ignore it.

"And you have the cheek to have a go at me for hiding things, I-"

"Miriana!"

She turned to see her aunt standing a few feet away, her face ashen, clutching the phone in her very white, trembling hands.

She instantly forgot about Sam and her blistering anger towards him, and rushed over to her aunt.

"What is it?" she asked. Her aunt took a deep breath, then another, as if she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs.

"There's been an attack," her aunt answered in a tightly controlled voice, "In New York."

Miriana frowned. She couldn't think of anyone they knew well that lived in Manhattan, even thought the place was rife with demons and vampires and just about every other supernatural thing that existed. It was inevitable, in a city as densely packed and as vibrant as New York, that it would attract the attention of monsters looking for something delicious and human sized to eat.

Seeing the confusion on her face, her aunt pressed on, "There's a bar just off fifth avenue; the devil's bane. A hunter's bar."

Realization dawned on her then; she remembered going there once, when she was a teenager, when her aunt had taken her and Nate on a holiday to New York. It had been down a flight of narrow, warped stairs that led into a bar in the wide basement underneath a tattoo parlour, the smell of burgers and whiskey drifting out through the door. She recalled seeing a devils trap drawn underneath the door and silver warding charms lining the doors and windows, a dark room full of hunters cleaning guns and knives. The more she thought about it, she did know hunters there. She knew the owner, a slim petite blond woman called Casey from Texas, her drawling accent and country singer style oddly out of place in the middle of the grit and grime of New York. She felt slightly sick.

"It was blown up last night," her aunt went on, the tremble in her voice more prominent, "By demons. They killed everyone that managed to get out. It was a bloodbath, Miriana."

She was aware of Sam watching them intently, but she ignored him.

"I just got the call," her aunt continued, "There were a lot of hunters in there, Miriana, and their friends are looking for something to string up for this. They want our help."

For just a brief second, Miriana felt a sudden burst of pride. She felt oddly flattered that hunters across America thought she was good enough to call on for help.

"I'll go," she said instantly, "I'll pack my bags and get the next flight out. It'll take too long to drive."

She set off walking towards the house, her aunt hot on her heels, "You can't go alone. I'll come."

"No you will not," Miriana snapped, striding up the stairs to her room, almost knocking Dean over the banister as he sauntered past.

"Whoa, what's the rush?" he demanded, glaring after her indignantly as she swept across the landing. She ignored him.

She pulled her holdall from the top of her wardrobe, pulling out random pairs of jeans and t-shirts and dumping them, roughly folded into the bag. She picked up a handful of underwear from her drawer and threw them on top of her clothes, then moved into the bathroom and pulled down her bag of toiletries that she always kept packed, in case she was called away on a hunt. Her aunt leaned against the doorway, watching her manic process.

"You're not going alone, Miriana," her aunt said in a disapproving tone, "New York's dangerous enough as it is, without a horde of demons running around. This sounds big, whatever it is. It's not just a random attack, someone is co-ordinating this. Picking off hunters systematically."

"That's exactly why I don't want you going," Miriana said, zipping up her bag, "No offence, but you're not as young as you used to be, aunty. They know that, and they'll take advantage of it."

"I know I'm past my prime," Eve said, her tone slightly bitter, "But I'm still useful. Tracking, warding, that sort of thing. I'm not letting you run off into a battle we know barely anything about."

Miriana sighed heavily, sensing defeat, "Well then, you'd better get a bag packed."

Her aunt gave a small smile, "I always have a bag packed. I believe in being prepared in our line of work."

Miriana rolled her eyes as her Aunt swept gracefully from the room, calling Nate as she went. A few seconds after she left, Dean appeared in the doorway, leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

"So I guess Sam told you about the whole Michael/Lucifer suit problem?" he said in a deceptively casual tone.

She snorted, "Good job, really, isn't it? If _he _hadn't, I'd probably have only found out when you appeared as the devil and his brother."

Dean sighed heavily, "I know we should have told you, alright? It's just...I told Sam not to tell you at all until we absolutely had to. I don't like dumping our crap on you, Miriana. I don't like you getting caught up in all this heaven and hell destiny crap. I..." he coughed and shuffled his shoulders awkwardly, "I care about you too much."

Her anger instantly dissolved, melting away. She dropped her bag on the bed, and walked towards him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. She turned her head into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar smell of aftershave and gun metal, a smell imprinted on her nose since she was a teenager. The end of the world wasn't a time to hold grudges over petty arguments.

"I'm sorry," she murmured into his neck.

He stepped back, releasing his hold, "Don't be."

He glanced behind her at the packed bag on her bed, "You're sure about this deal in New York. Sounds pretty dangerous."

She gave a light hearted laugh, though her heart was thumping in her chest like a jackhammer, "I've had dangerous before. I always manage to get through it."

A honk sounded from the Impala, "I guess I should get going."

Miriana nodded, "Yeah."

He moved towards the hall and then paused, one hand on the frame of her door, "Just promise me you'll b careful, okay. No reckless shit. Because if you get yourself killed I swear I'll bring you back just to kick your ass."

She let out a little choked laugh, feeling oddly on the verge of tears, "Promise. Scouts honour."

He gave her one last smile before he vanished down the stairs, leaving her alone in her room, her hands clenched so tightly in the fabric of her bag so tightly her knuckles were white.

She jumped when her aunt appeared at the door, a heavy bag slung over her shoulder, Nate behind her, looking thoroughly pissed off.

"Ready?" her aunt asked.

She nodded, heading for the door, dragging her bag behind her.

"Oh man," Nate grumbled as they traipsed down the stairs, "I really hate flying."

* * *

Miriana was exhausted by the time they finally reached the Washington hotel on Seventh Avenue, after a delayed flight, and a slightly frightening taxi ride with a vehicle that seemed barely able to stay on the road and a driver that either didn't understand the rules of the road, or just didn't care. After a broken down lift and staggering up twelve flights of stairs, Miriana was ready for a comfortable bed. The second she was in her hotel room, after saying goodnight to her aunt and cousin as they went to their separate rooms (none of them had agreed to share), she stripped off her clothes and threw them in a haphazard pile in the corner. Since they had had to travel through customs, she hadn't been able to bring any weapons; they were still stashed in the trunk of her Mercedes in her aunt's garage, which was warded against any supernatural invaders. Her aunt was meeting an old friend the next day that had a stash of weapons they could use. The only thing she had managed to bring was the demon killing knife, completely by accident. She realised hadn't the cruel serrated blade was still at the bottom of her holdall, sheathed carefully in an intricately carved leather case she had found in her aunt's attic. She wondered how it had managed to get past the airport security; maybe it was warded against detection in some way she hadn't noticed. She pulled it free from her bag and laid it on her bedside table, close enough to be able to snatch it if something decided to pay her a visit in the middle of the night.

She changed into a pair of loose, tattered pyjamas and slumped back against the mattress, listening to the noise of the city outside, watching the multicoloured lights filtering through the thin curtains over the long windows. She had only been to New York once, but she had loved the vibrancy and the culture, and had always wanted to come back; on a holiday however, not a hunt. Chasing demons all over the tightly packed avenues and backstreets of New York didn't sound as relaxing as wandering through the shopping malls and stuffing her face full of food in every diner she came across.

She tossed and turned for a few long minutes, exhausted but unable to sleep, her mind buzzing for reasons she couldn't fathom. She sat up and rifled through her bag until she found her phone, scrolling through the list of contacts on the screen. On a whim, she called Cas, listening to the ring tone as she padded across the carpet, twitching the curtains back across the window, greeted by a wall of black windows of another skyscraper across the street. There was no reply, and eventually the answer phone kicked in.

"You have reached the voice mail of-" said a cool female voice, followed by a confused, gruff voice asking, "What-I don't understand? Why do you want me to say my name?"

She smiled to herself, as she always did when she thought of him.

The beep kicked in, "Hi Cas, it's me. Miriana, that is. Err...I'm in New York, just in case you...you know needed me for anything. I'm just in the middle of a hunt, so...just letting you know. I...err...hope you're okay. See you soon."

She stopped herself at the last second from saying 'Love you', not entirely sure why she felt the urge to finish with it. She wasn't even sure if he would get the message, if he knew how to work his mobile. She didn't even know why she had rung him; perhaps she was just trying to convince herself that he wanted to know about her whereabouts or cared what she was doing. With a frustrated groan she threw her phone on the bed and followed after it, pulling the duvet up over her head. Why was she so pathetic? She couldn't even go a day without needing to call him.

She stared at the shifting patterns of light for a long time before she eventually succumbed to a restless sleep.

Eve spread out the map of New York on Miriana's bed, smoothing out the creases. Next to them, Nate was checking through the weapons they had been given by Eve's hunter friend, loading the guns with ammo and testing the edges of the blessed knives to check they were sharp enough. Outside, the hustle of New York, the honking taxis, the rattle of the road works machines and the thud of thousands of feet pounding the pavement bubbled against the windows. The sharp city smell of concrete, pollution and metal wafted through the open window.

"We know that the coven was holed up here," her Aunt said, pointing to a building circled in red in Harlem, "But we think they've moved closer into the city so they can plan another attack. Harlem is pretty far out of the action zone."

"Are we certain they've moved," said Nate around a mouthful of the doughnuts Eve had bought from a diner down the street, "'Cos if Miriana's gonna go and search the place, we don't want a load of demons bursting in on her."

"I think I can handle a few demons Nate," Miriana said wryly, subconsciously touching the knife in the inside pocket of her leather jacket.

"Sounds like it might be more than a few," Nate muttered, going back to cleaning the knife in his hands.

Eve bit her lip, "Nate could be right," she said worriedly, "Maybe we should come with you."

Miriana sighed, casting Nate a dark look, "Look, you're checking out the ruins of the bar, and it's more likely that there's going to be demons lingering there, waiting for hunters looking for revenge. You two need each for back up, and we'll save time if we can do two things at once."

Nate rolled his eyes, "If you get killed don't blame us."

* * *

His phone was being more irksome than usual. It kept buzzing, telling him he had some sort of message, but he had absolutely no idea how to access it. In the end he gave up and resorted to pressing random buttons in the hope that it might work.

"What are you doing?" came an amused voice from behind him.

He shot out of his skin, completely caught off guard; he had been so intent on the phone, he hadn't felt the presence behind him. He whirled to find Embriel stood behind him, her hands on her hips, a small smile playing about her lips.

"Just trying to get this ridiculous contraption to work," he muttered, waving the phone in her direction, "It appears I have some sort of message, but I don't know how to get it."

She rolled her eyes and took the phone out of his hands, flipping it open and frowning at the screen. He hadn't seen her for a long time, but he could see marked changes in her already. Her eyes were surrounded by a thin spider web of lines, her skin looked pale and drawn, and he noticed that her vessels clothes, which were always completely immaculate, were a little shabby looking. The bottom of her long cream cardigan was splashed with mud, and the white shirt she wore underneath looked grubby.

He was just about to ask her if she was well, when she handed the phone back to him, "Just press four and you can listen to it."

He did as she told him and lifted the phone to his ear, hearing Miriana's slightly faltering voice on the other end. The cool female voice that aggravated him so much told him at the end of the message that he had received the message at twelve thirty last night. It worried him that Miriana was up so late, not sleeping.

"Well?" Embriel asked when he flipped the phone shut and dropped it back in his pocket.

"It's Miriana," he answered, "She's in New York on a hunt."

Embriel visibly paled, what little colour there was in her face draining away completely.

"New York," she repeated in a hushed tone.

"Yes," he said cautiously, watching her reaction carefully, "Why?"

"Lucifer is in New York," she said, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face.

The bottom dropped out of his stomach, "What?"

"He's there now," she said in a strained voice, "We don't know why, but we know he's up to something."

"Like what?" he asked, the dread of what Miriana might be walking into heavy on his chest.

"There are lot of hunters in New York, Castiel," she said, "Even more since that bar was attacked this week. They're looking for revenge, gathering to fight back against the coven responsible."

"They're going up against the devil?" he asked in a choked voice.

"His coven," she replied, "But if they cause too much trouble, then he'll step in."

He fumbled for his phone, pulling it free with shaking fingers. He dialled her number and waited, but it was cut off almost instantly. He tried again, but the same thing happened.

"I can't find her," he said desperately, "She's hidden from angels and she's not answering-"

All of a sudden, Embriel seemed to gather herself together. She drew herself up straight and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Go to New York," she said in a firm voice, "Find her aunt and cousin, they're bound to be with her or know where she is. We don't need to panic just yet. We would know if the hunters had attacked yet."

The panic that had blossomed up inside his chest settled and eased, and he could breathe easily again. Embriel was right; there was no saying Miriana and the other hunters were even doing anything yet. There was no need to panic.

He spread his wings, trying not to worry when it hurt, the muscles and tendons screaming in protest, sharp stabbing pains that ran from top to bottom. Every time he used them, it got more and more painful and more difficult, as if they were decaying away, fraying at the edges.

Embriel caught his arm before he left, "Be careful. Don't go running off and doing anything too reckless."

He managed to smile a little, even though it felt strained, "When do I ever do that?

* * *

Riding the subway was...interesting. It seemed to be the favourite haunt of several hobos; they spent the journey huddled up on the hard plastic seats, hidden behind pile of unpleasant smelling rags. Miriana was glad the train wasn't crowded enough so that she had no choice but to sit near them.

She was glad when she left the subway, climbing up the litter covered stairs to the street, out of the cloying heat of the subway. She took in a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of the city on her tongue. Glad as she was for the fresh air, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was...off. She couldn't think of a better word for it; there was an odd sensation in the air, as if the atmosphere was electrically charged. She had felt it when they had first stepped out of the cab outside the hotel, but she had shook it off as paranoia. As much as she had tried to ignore it, it had grown stronger and stronger throughout the morning, pressing down against her shoulders, the taste of it in every breath she drew in. Even though the sun was out and beaming down, she felt uncomfortably cold. There was something in this city, something evil. The feel of it was pervading the air like a cancer.

She arrived at the address after a short walk along the quiet streets of Harlem, the only signs of movement the occasional elderly lady on a shopping trip, struggling with the weight of her bags, or the odd kid on a bicycle. The closer she got to the address, the more rundown the area became, the buildings getting shabbier and dilapidated, paint peeling away in flakes, weeds bursting up through the cracks in the concrete and bags of rubbish overflowing onto the streets. She hugged her jacket a little tighter, glad for the comforting weight of the knife and gun in the inside pocket of her leather jacket.

She found the building she was looking for, at the end of the street; a foreboding battered grey brick house with its wide windows boarded up, graffiti sprayed across the crumbling facade. She lingered outside the house, suddenly reluctant to go inside. Demons had been here. She wasn't psychic, nor would she ever kid herself that she was, but she had a hunter's intuition, that gut feeling that flared up sometimes. She could smell them, that faint stench of sulphur hovering around the bricks and overgrown garden. She pushed aside the chain link gate, and waded through the knee high weeds in the garden up to the steps that led to the front door. She tested the door cautiously, and found that it swung open instantly, revealing a hallway thick with shadows. She crept inside, pulling out the knife now she was off the street, holding it at her side. The warped floorboards creaked underneath her feet and she tensed, waiting for something to launch itself from the shadows but nothing moved. She let out a breath she hadn't even realised she had been holding.

She turned into the room on the left, which looked like it had once been a sitting room, judging by the tattered sagging couch and television, which was smashed inwards, shards of glass littering the floor. There was a table in the middle of the room, which was scattered with papers. She wasn't even sure what she was looking for in this house, but she picked the papers up anyway and rifled through them. She wasn't sure that demons wrote down their nefarious plans like one might write a shopping list, but it was worth a look.

Most of the torn pages were useless; excerpts from demonology textbooks she had seen on her aunt's shelves in the library, random sheets of gibberish and languages she didn't understand. She was about to give up and head upstairs when something caught her eyes at the bottom of the pile, a map with a building circled in red. She pulled it loose, scrutinizing it. She didn't know New York well enough to have a good understanding of where the building was, but she guessed from its location that it was somewhere near the spot where the Devil's Bane used to be; she recognized a few of the place names. She wrote the address down on a scrap of paper, feeling that it would somehow come in useful, when she heard the sound of male voices on the doorstep. She froze all over, going as rigid as a rabbit that had smelt a fox. She looked around the room panicked, as the sound of the door hinges creaking reverberated through the house. Behind her was a door leading into an adjoining room; she tucked a handful of the papers in her pocket, just in case and jumped behind the door, just as the men came into the room. She kept her breathing quiet as she could, peering around the door to get a look at the intruders.

She had hoped that they might be other hunters, but one glance told her otherwise. Their eyes flashed flat liquid black for a few brief seconds, and she cursed under her breath. There was no way out of this room apart from back through the lounge.

"What are we here for?" the blond, thickest demon asked, glancing around the room with a look of distaste.

"They left some papers, important stuff the boss is after," the second demon, a tall thin man with black hair replied, "You should have heard him when they said they left them. He nearly tore the hotel down."

The first demon chuckled, "Yeah, that sounds like Reuben."

Miriana felt as if someone had just dumped a bucket of ice over her head, her blood instantly running cold in her veins, raising goose bumps on her skin despite the warm temperature.

"Can't blame him. We know what happens if he fucks up. I still don't understand why he picked that lot to be his team," the black haired demon said, his tone angry, "We could do a better job."

"A monkey could do a better job than that lot," the blond demon said wryly. There was the sound of rustling papers and a muttered curse.

"There's some missing," said the blond demon, a tinge of panic in his voice, "There's papers missing."

"What?" the other demon demanded. There was the thud of footsteps across the floor, the sound of papers being rifled through, then another curse.

"Someone's been here," said the blond demon, "Look at the dust. It was thick last time we came here and it's brushed away over there."

At that moment, her mobile went off, the shrill ring cutting through the tense air like a knife. She swore under her breath, grabbing the phone and cutting it off instantly with trembling fingers. There was no way they couldn't have heard it.

"Well well," said the drawling voice of the blond demon, "Looks like we have ourselves a little intruder."

The door slammed back against the wall, almost knocking Miriana off her feet, and she jumped backwards as the two demons stalked into the room. She felt a bolt of panic race through her at the sight of them; they both had something of a height and weight advantage over her, even the thin one.

"A pretty little intruder too," said the blond demon, his eyes lazily roving her, lingering a little too long on her breasts, "Are you gonna give us the things you stole, honey?"

She pulled the knife from her pocket, holding it forwards warningly, "I don't think so."

They both laughed, "That little thing looks impressive, but I'm not so worried. You're only a little thing."

She made a run for the door, even though she knew it was a long shot, but the thin demon caught her and backhanded her viciously around the face, her flesh stinging where his fingers collided. She was so shocked she dropped the knife, and it clattered to the floor, where it lay uselessly. She was thrown bodily against the wall, and she winced when the back of her skull collided with the bricks, making a line of vivid stars spring up across her vision. The blond demon swept forwards, the knife in his hands, and she just had time to grab hold of his wrists before he plunged the blade into her stomach. She fought as hard as she could, but he was strong, and she could feel the knife creeping closer towards her, denting the fabric of her t-shirt, threatening to puncture it.

At that second there came a ragged scream from behind them, and the thin demon crumpled to the floor, revealing a familiar figure stood behind it, his tan trench coat dishevelled.

He caught her eyes over the demons shoulder, and he gave her a small smile, a slight twitch of the lips, "Sorry I didn't get here sooner."

The demon completely forgot her, dropping the knife and lunging towards Cas with a bellow like a wounded beast. He stepped aside, dodging the demons swing and smoothly drove his knee into the demons stomach, driving him to his knees. He placed his hand flat against his forehead, as she had seen him do before to exorcise demons, but nothing happened. The demon struggled, and coils of smoke drifted around his mouth, but nothing else. She glanced at Cas; his face was scrunched up in pain, blood trickling from his nose. She recovered from her shock, dropping to the floor and grabbing the knife, lunging towards him. Her saw in his peripheral vision, and he broke free of Cas's hold with a growl of exertion, staggering towards her. She drove the knife into his chest, and the demon fell forward, dull orange light flickering behind his eyes and skull. She shrieked as he pitched forwards, threatening to crush her with his weight, then she felt arms around her waist, pulling her to the side, out of harm's way. She lost her balance on the uneven floorboards and thudded into the floor with a shout, Cas landing awkwardly on top of her.

"Hello Miriana," he said, slightly breathlessly, "How are you?"


	12. Heads Will Roll

_Hi hope you all enjoy this chapter :) Thank you so much for all great reviews, I really appreciate it. :P An on a random note, I don't really like season 6 so far. It's wierd, and Dean is annoying me, which I never thought I'd say. :(_

Miriana soon discovered he was far heavier than he looked. His weight on top of her seemed to squeeze very bit of breath out of her lungs. In a strange way, it felt oddly comfortable. Her cheeks flushed furiously.

"Err...Cas?" she asked, "Could you just...err...get off me? I kind of can't breathe."

He immediately jumped backwards, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.

"Sorry," he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. She couldn't tell if it was a trick of the light, but he seemed to be blushing.

She glanced around the room, at the two dead demons, lying on their backs, the eyes of their hosts blank and staring at the ceiling.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, the thought suddenly coming to her, "I thought I was hidden from all angels?"

He frowned briefly, "You are. I don't know how I found you, I just...it sounds ridiculous."

She raised her eyebrows, "I can believe a lot."

He sighed heavily, "I felt you. I got this...sharp pain in my chest here." He rubbed a spot just over his heart, "And I just knew where you were. I could feel your panic, hear your heart and I just...followed it," he finished lamely.

She wasn't quite sure how to respond to this. An awkward silence fell over the room, and she managed to break it with a hoarsely whispered question.

"How is that possible?"

He met her eyes then, and she saw that they were raging with confusion, "I don't know."

Looking at him properly, she saw that his nose was bleeding profusely, and there was a short deep cut across his forehead that was weeping scarlet blood.

"You're bleeding," she stated unhelpfully. He frowned and lifted a hand to his nose, and then to his forehead, his fingers coming away stained with red.

"Oh yes," he said mildly, "I don't understand why I haven't healed yet."

She noticed he seemed a little unsteady on his feet. It worried her; she wasn't used to seeing someone as tough and seemingly invincible as Cas looking even remotely ill. He never looked slightly rundown or tired, but up close she could see there were deep purple shadows under his eyes and a distinctive slump in his usually straight shoulders.

"I'll take you back to my hotel room," she said, glad Dean wasn't around to drop an innuendo, "That cut looks nasty."

She started walking towards the door, but soon noticed he wasn't following her.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Err...taking the subway back to the hotel," she explained, wondering if it was a trick question, "I don't have my car."

"We don't need the subway," he said matter of factly, taking a few steps closer, "We have me. Which hotel is it?"

"The Washington, seventh avenue."

He took hold of her hand, his fingers warm against hers, and for a brief, wild second, she thought he would lean forward across the small space between them and kiss her. Instead, she felt the air around them stir, brushing the hair across her cheeks, and she felt something like feathers scrape against the back of her neck, raising a trail of goose bumps all down her spine. For a horrible, stifling second, the whole world seemed to press in on her, crushing her lungs, squeezing her into an impossibly small space. She was certain her bones would crack and disintegrate into dust, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight, white spots danced and whirled before her eyes...

As suddenly as the choking sensation had descended, it lifted, and she could breathe easily again. She opened her eyes and she was met with the elegant interior of her hotel room, exactly as she had left it. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that she had just flown across New York, but any amazement fled her mind when Cas's hand slipped out of hers and he dropped heavily onto the bed, dropping his head into his hands.

"Cas?" she asked, worried, "Are you okay?"

He scrubbed at his forehead as if trying to open up his skull, "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine," she said softly, sitting next to him on the bed.

"That hurt more than it should do," he said quietly, "And I could not exorcize that demon. The pain of trying to do it was like...knives inside my head. Something's wrong with me, Miriana. My head aches..."

She slipped her hand carefully into his, twining her fingers around his, "You'll be alright."

He lifted her eyes to hers, and they were anguished, and so tired looking, "How do you know?"

"I don't know," she admitted, dropping her voice to a whisper.

He returned his gaze to the scrutiny of the thick cream carpet, but she felt his hand tighten over hers, just for a brief second before he released it.

"I should see to that cut," she said, standing up suddenly. She rummaged through her holdall until she found her first aid kit, pulling a cloth and the bottle of antiseptic lotion from the bag. She perched carefully on the mattress next to him, dabbing some of the harsh smelling liquid onto the cloth.

She leaned across him, very aware of how close he suddenly was, "This might sting a bit."

She pressed the cloth against the cut, and she felt him tense, his muscles as hard as iron, just for a quick moment, before he covered up his discomfort. She wondered why he bothered to hide pain from her, if he saw it is weakness. He was a soldier after all, even if he had been kicked out of the army.

She cleaned the cut thoroughly, pressing against the wound as softly and as gently as possible..

"How's your head?" she asked.

"Uncomfortable," he answered, as she wiped the streak of blood away from underneath his nose.

"I would give you painkillers, but I don't even think they'll work on you," she said hesitantly. She screwed up the cloth and lobbed it into the sink.

"You shouldn't be in New York, Miriana," he said, his tone a little stern, "It isn't safe."

She rolled her eyes, "Don't give me the speech my Aunt did. You'll get killed by one of those yellow taxis, they never look where they're going, chasing after demons, it's stupid, you can't do it alone, blah, blah, blah," she said, putting on a falsely high imitation of her aunts voice. Cas frowned at her disapprovingly.

"That's not what I mean," he grumbled, "Those demons are here because of Lucifer. He's in this city now, planning something."

Miriana let out a slightly hysterical laugh, "No, I don't think so. It's just a coven of demons that got lucky. Those hunters would never have been caught out otherwise."

"You have to trust me Miriana," he said firmly, "The attack on that bar was part of some sort of plan. The angels think he wants to draw out as many hunters as possible, then he can slaughter them."

"How would you know?" she asked, a little bitterly, "I thought you were cut off from heaven."

"I am," he gritted out between his teeth, "Embriel told me."

Miriana's face instantly softened, "Embriel? How is she?"

"She's been better," he answered shortly, "She looks exhausted."

Miriana rubbed her forehead, "And she's sure he's in Manhattan?"

"Almost certain."

"What's he planning then?"

"I don't know."

"Fat lot of use you are," she muttered.

He sighed heavily, putting a hand to his forehead again, "Why must you make a fight out of everything? You're making my headache worse."

She turned to face him, startled. That was the closest he had ever got to angry with her; the sharpest she had ever heard his tone when he spoke to her. She felt a wave of guilt instantly descend over her.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she said quietly, "I can't help myself. I guess I'm just tired, I didn't sleep well last night."

"I'm sorry too," he said, "I understand how frustrating exhaustion is now. I don't know how you humans cope with it."

"Coffee," she answered simply, "I drink gallons of the stuff."

"That can't be good for your health," he said in a disapproving tone.

"I don't like your 'telling me what to do tone'", she grumbled.

"Then don't do stupid things," he said, in a surprisingly churlish tone.

She tutted and stood up, folding her arms, "I wish I hadn't treated your cut. I hope your head really hurts."

He said nothing to this, but she noticed a slight smile curled up the corners of his lips.

She turned to the window and looked out over the towers of concrete and glass that were the skyscrapers, crowding the skyline, stretching into the dull grey sky. The air outside seemed stifling hot and humid, pressing down against the pavements and roads like a tarpaulin had been thrown over the city. There was something wrong with the air; the same thing she had noticed in Harlem was pervading the atmosphere here, snaking between the buildings. Was it really so hard to believe that Lucifer was hidden somewhere in the groggy, smoky streets of New York? She could picture him perfectly, though she had never been unfortunate enough to see him in person, dark haired and tall, dressed in an immaculate suit, casting his piercing eyes over the city. Searching the avenues and houses around him, looking for the next thing to corrupt or destroy. Watching the band of hunters every move as they searched for his coven, watching them clean their weapons, share their plans...was he watching her right now? Did he know she was here, right underneath his nose?

"You can feel it too," Cas said, right in her ear. She hadn't heard his footsteps across the carpet and she jumped, "He's here somewhere."

"I'm not a physic," she said, turning away from the window and the thick, cloying smell of the city wafting through the slightly open window, "I wouldn't know."

"You don't need to be a physic," he said matter of factly.

She leaned against the wall, "I can't just stroll away from a fight. Those demons killed so many hunters. They tracked anyone down who escaped and butchered them. There's not enough of us as it is, and there's barely anyway left to avenge them."

"I understand that," he said shortly, "But there's duty, and then there's recklessness."

She didn't know how to make him understand her warped reasons for doing things, "We have a code of honour, Cas. You don't let murders go unpunished. Anyone that can help does; I'd like to think they'd do the same for me. We're an army, in a weird sort of way."

Something she said seemed to have struck a chord in him, "I know. I used to have that with the rest of the garrison."

His voice was suddenly very sad, and the slump was back in his shoulders.

"They treated you like dirt," she said firmly "You're better off out from under their control."

"Am I?" he asked bitterly, "It doesn't feel like it."

"Well I-" she began, but she was cut off by the sound of someone hammering on the door.

"Miriana, open up its Nate," came a panicked voice from the other side of the door.

She opened the door, and was nearly flattened against the wall as Nate came few through almost tripping over his own lanky legs.

His eyes fell on Cas, and his face instantly darkened.

"Oh great you're here," he said, making no attempt to disguise his hostility.

"Nate," she snapped, "Don't be rude."

"Whatever," he cast Cas another dark look before he turned to Miriana, "There's been another attack."

Her stomach rocketed to the floor, "What?"

"The group of hunters that my Aunt met this morning, they're all dead."

"How many?" she asked, horrified.

"Twenty easily," Nate looked slightly flushed, as if he'd run a very long way, "Aunt Eve stayed down there with Ethan and a few others."

"Ethan's here?" Miriana said, surprised.

"Yeah, he heard we were here and came to help," Nate explained, "He's with Tank and Jack. They tried to stop the attack, but they were too late."

"Where are they?" she asked, patting her jacket to check the knife was still safely inside her pocket.

"A warehouse by the river, off fifty Sixth Street."

* * *

Cas rode the subway with them, which Miriana thought must be very frustrating for someone that could transport himself halfway across the world in the blink of an eye, having to rely on human transport. He seemed oddly jittery for someone who was always so still and controlled, and he kept rubbing his temples with his long fingers. She wanted to touch his hand, comfort him in some way, but she decided it wasn't the best idea with Nate around. He kept shooting Cas furtive dark looks, and after ten solid minutes of this she stomped as subtly as she could on his foot and gave him a warning glance. He pulled a face at her and slumped back against the seat, bouncing his leg up and down, wrapped in a moody silence.

Nate stormed ahead of them when they got off the subway at the other end, his hand shoved in his pockets. Miriana glared darkly at his back all the way down the deserted street, hoping to burn a hole in the back of his jacket. She couldn't understand why he hated him so much; he barely knew him. he hadn't seen all the quiet strength he had, or the gentle side he let through the iron hard warriors exterior.

"Hey," she touched his shoulder carefully, and he turned from his dull scrutiny of the street in front of them, "Just ignore Nate. He's being a moody little bugger."

"I don't blame him for his hostility," he said, "He's just being protective over you."

"No, he's being a little shit," Miriana grumbled, "He has no right to act the way he is."

"He does," Cas said, stopping on the spot and turning to face her, "You ended up in that hospital bed because of me. You've been hurt because of me. Nate knows that; he's just trying to keep you safe."

"But you've helped me more than you've hurt me," she said, "He doesn't know that."

He shook his head, seemingly frustrated, "I wish you wouldn't make me out as the hero, Miriana."

"But you are to me."

He sighed heavily; his shoulders were still slumped, as if there was a great weight pressed against them. He reached out across the small space between them and lightly traced the tips of his fingers down over her cheek, flushed from walking in the humid air, and over her lips.

"I wish you weren't caught up in all this," he said wistfully, "Why did you have to choose this life? So much blood and pain and death."

"You wouldn't have met me otherwise," she whispered, "Think of it that way."

His lips lifted slightly, the closest he ever got to a real smile, "I suppose."

"Oi!" Nate shouted from the end of the street, "Are you two gonna move your lazy asses up here or not?"

He dropped his hand like he'd been burned, and set off walking without a glance backwards.

She could smell the sharp tang of the river at first, carried on the breeze, rubbish and metal. But the closer she got the hulking skeleton of the burned out warehouse, the smell that was thick in the air was suddenly far more cloying, and her stomach flipped. The smell of death hung heavily around the place, that awful sharp metallic tang of blood hitting the back of her throat, making her retch.

There was a small band of people sitting on a small stack of crates towards the end of the dock, her Aunt amongst them, her long silvery hair tied back in an elegant plait. She could see Tank's hulking physique, and next to him a figure with a mop of wildly curly hair, which she assumed was Frankie. The others she didn't recognize, and Ethan was nowhere to be seen.

Cas shuddered, "Lucifer was here."

She looked at him incredulously, "How can you tell?"

He cast a dark look around the warehouse and its surrounding battered buildings as if he half expected Satan to jump from the shadows, "I can feel him. Evil soaks into everything he walks on."

She looked down at the concrete underneath her feet and could suddenly imagine spurts of blood and thick black tar seeping up through the cracks, soaking into the soles of her boots. She suppressed a shiver and quickened her pace, reaching the group of hunters.

Up close, she could see many of them were sporting injuries. Frankie had a deep cut across his left eyebrow that was weeping blood, and the sleeve of Tank's shirt was rolled back and a wad of bloody gauze taped across his muscular shoulder, and he winced every time he moved it. The other hunters she didn't recognize were in just as bad if not worse shape, several of them lying slumped against the crates, and one of them looked as if he had been stabbed in the stomach, a wadded up t-shirt held against the wound, stained crimson.

Miriana touched her Aunt's arm in alarm, "Some of these people need to get to hospital. Why haven't you called an ambulance?"

Eve shook her head, "They won't leave. I think they're in shock."

"What the hell happened?" the wind changed direction then, and Miriana caught a scent of something that made her gag, "What the hell is that smell?"

Her Aunt patted her shoulder, "You need to take a look in that warehouse. You might want this."

She handed her a silky scarf. Miriana looked at her in confusion.

"For the smell," her Aunt clarified.

Miriana took it warily and held it against her nose and mouth. It smelled like her Aunt's lavender perfume.

She walked across the empty space of concrete towards the gutted warehouse, Cas close behind her. As she drew closer to the weather and pollution battered remnants of the building, she was suddenly very glad for the scarf. The smell was horrendous; it seemed to seep through the fabric and remain in her nose, so every breath she drew in was tainted. Cas seemed to deal with it far better than her; the only sign of his discomfort was a slight wrinkle of his nose. She supposed he had experienced much worse in the wars between heaven and hell.

"What the bloody hell is it?" she asked, her voice muffled through the fabric of the scarf.

"Death," he answered simply.

She wasn't entirely sure how she managed to keep her food down when she entered the warehouse and took one look around the room. She could taste the bile in the back of her throat, harsh and burning, making her eyes stream with tears.

"Oh my God," she breathed, barely audible against the scarf.

There were at least twenty bodies in the room, if not more, littered everywhere, haphazardly thrown about the room like a child had tossed a handful of dolls. It wasn't the amount of bodies that made Miriana want to vomit (she had seen enough death in her time as a hunter), but rather the state they were in.

"What the hell happened to them?" she asked Cas hoarsely.

He shook his head, "I don't know."

The oddest thing was that there was barely any blood to seen. Usually when demons attacked hunters they chose to kill them in a nice bloody way, like cutting the jugular open and carving them up like a Christmas turkey, but there was barely a split drop of scarlet liquid anywhere. The bodies were twisted and emaciated, their faces frozen in a death rictus, eyes glassy, the whites of them shot through with blood and stained and odd yellow. They seemed to have been stripped of everything inside of them, as if something had come and sucked them dry, leaving nothing but twisted, hollow shells of papery skin and bones. The edges of their gaping mouths were stained black and grey, like they had been badly bruised. A few of them seemed to rotting already, maggots crawling underneath their clothes, although they couldn't have been dead more than a few hours. There was something about the building that gave her a headache, a slight smell of something like electricity, like ozone, underneath the stench of the dead. Something awful had been in here, and it had left its mark on the walls, in the ground in the very air.

She walked forward and felt her stomach drop when she recognized someone among the contorted corpses, the daughter of one of her aunt's friends, her once glossy blond hair and smooth golden skin dried up, her body freakishly thin and twisted, her clothes hanging loose on the dead flesh. She remembered watching 'the Mummy' once, when she was a teenager. There was a scene when the mummy rose from the dead and sucked clean a group of adventurers so he could take their organs and their skin, leaving skeletal corpses behind, hollow. The grotesque bodies she saw before he reminded her exactly of that scene, something she remembered had scared the crap out of Nate when he was a kid. She was glad he hadn't seen this.

"Demons didn't do this," she stated.

"No," Cas agreed, kneeling down and inspecting one of the corpses, its face disfigured beyond recognition, "This was something else entirely."

There was a movement behind her, and Miriana turned to find Ethan stood behind, a ripped up piece of t-shirt tied across his mouth. She noticed that his forehead was bleeding, and there was blood on his shirt, but she wasn't sure if it was his own or that of someone else.

"Awful, isn't it?" he said, coming to stand beside her.

"Horrendous," she managed to say, trying to keep her eyes trained away from any of the faces she knew.

"I wish this was under better circumstances, but it's good to see you again so soon, Miriana," Ethan said, and she saw that he was smiling underneath the cloth over his mouth.

"Yeah, you too," she said, doing her best to smile.

Ethan's eyes fell on Cas, still carefully regarding the corpse like a professor who was puzzling over a new theorem, "Any ideas what did it?"

Cas looked up, "Not really."

Ethan sighed heavily, "I've never seen anything like this. You?"

She shook her head, "Never."

"We tried to help them," Ethan began, and his voice was saturated with pain and frustration, "But we were too late. We couldn't even get inside the warehouse; it was guarded by demons from every angle. A few managed to get out, but they were pretty badly injured, and we couldn't get a word of sense out of them. We still can't; I think they're in shock."

Wanting to be free from the cloying atmosphere of death and decay inside the warehouse, she turned back towards the door, desperate to taste clean air, "I think I'll go ask those that managed to get out some questions. You never know, they might be able to talk now."

As soon as she was out of sight of Ethan and Cas, she ripped the scarf away from her mouth and leaned against a huge stack of metal crates, gasping for breath. Her eyes were stinging with tears, and she couldn't seem to get enough air into her lungs. She felt...wrong. Every time she shut her eyes she could see the twisted faces of the death imprinted on her retinas. They would stay in her night mares for weeks to come, she suspected. Sometime things just felt so hopeless.

"Hey, are you alright?" Ethan asked, startling her. She hadn't heard him approach.

She wiped underneath her eyes hastily, careful not to smudge her eyeliner, "Yes, fine."

"It's alright to be shaken up you know," he said, patting her lightly on the back, "You don't have to keep a calm exterior."

"I know," she said, "It just helps to sometimes, you know?"

He nodded sympathetically, continuing to rub soothing circles on her back. She glanced up when a shadow fell across them. Cas was stood at the end of the row of crates, his gaze fixed on Ethan, eyes narrowed, posture tense. She felt him drop his hand and subtly slide away from her.

"Err..." said Miriana helplessly, eager to alleviate the sudden awkward silence.

"I can't discover anything much from the bodies," Cas said, sounding like someone quoting from a police report, "Except that they've been sucked dry."

"I think we'd worked that out," Ethan said, his tone a little cooler than before.

"I was simply stating a fact," Cas said, his voice cold as ice.

"I think I'll go and talk to those hunters," Miriana said hastily, worried one of them might start a fight. She dodged past Cas, very aware of his eyes burning a hole in her back as she headed towards the bedraggled group of hunters.

The man with the bleeding stomach was sitting alone, propped against the stack of crates behind him. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and his breathing was laboured.

Miriana knelt down next to him, "You should go to a hospital."

He shrugged his shoulders with a great effort, "What's the point? I've lost everything in that building."

"What killed your friends?" she asked. She hated to be so insensitive, but she needed information.

"I don't know," the man whispered, "It was terrible. The demons said that they needed us for something, needed our souls. Then he came."

The terror in his voice at the last phrase made Miriana shiver all over, her skin crawling, "Who?"

"The devil," he answered, his voice barely audible.

"How did you get away?" she asked.

"Luck," the man said bitterly, "Me and a few others managed to slip out when they weren't looking. But I got stabbed by one of the bastards waiting outside. I could hear this roaring noise inside the building and there was screaming and this...feeling, like something was...bursting out. Then just...nothing. God, it was awful."

Miriana patted his shoulder awkwardly, then got up and went to stand with her aunt, who was talking in a low voice with Ethan.

"Do you have any idea what it was?" she asked, but as she expected, her Aunt shook her head.

"Not a clue. Did you manage to find anything in that house in Harlem?"

Miriana remembered with a sudden flash that bundle of roughly folded papers in the inside pocket of her jacket. She pulled them free, but her Aunt frowned at the sight of them.

"I can't understand this language," she said, frustrated, "This is unlike anything I've ever seen, I mean-"

"It's enochian," said Cas, cutting across Eve, "A very old form." He carefully took the papers from Miriana's hands and scrutinized them. The more he read, the further his frown deepened.

"It's a summoning ritual," he said. He flicked to another crumpled page, "And a binding ritual."

"For what?" Miriana questioned, with a strong feeling she wasn't going to like the answer.

"A horseman," Cas answered, "Lucifer was raising Famine."

* * *

Things had not picked up for Reuben. He was still Lucifer's errand boy, still sat around twiddling his fingers, waiting for something to happen, for the killing and maiming to start. There was one good thing though; he had been given command of a coven of demons, and the sense of power was something he would never grow sick of.

Selene stirred next to him on the bed, her long glossy black hair falling around her face. She seemed far more excited by Reuben's promotion than she did, mostly because, he suspected, it meant she could stay in two hundred dollar a night hotel rooms with mini bars stacked with alcohol. He kept Selene with him because she was good in bed and had an even more sadistic streak than him, but the truth was she annoyed him with her shallow nature. All demons were superficial to an extent, but Selene was the worst of any he had even known, obsessed with money and wealth. He couldn't say he blamed her; back in the Middle Ages, when she had been alive, her family hadn't even had enough money to feed their children, and two of her sisters had died. She had sold her soul for wealth, to a crossroads demon, and that was why she had ended up where she was, after clawing her way up through Hell. He guessed the obsession had stuck. He didn't care much about dollar bills; the only currency that worked in Hell was power and how many you would kill to get it.

He was startled by a loud knock on the door. He pulled his jeans and black shirt on and threw the covers over Selene, though he didn't think she cared much for modesty.

"What?" he snapped, when upon opening the door he found one of his subordinates, jittering in the hallway.

"I need to talk to you sir," he said, casting a glance down the deserted corridor, "In private."

He rolled his eyes, but stood aside to allow the demon into his room.

Selene sat up, the sheet falling away, her narrowed eyes fixed on the demon, who seemed to squirm on the spot, "What is he doing in here?"

The demon seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes on her face, "Excuse me ma'am, but I need to tell you something.

"Well get on with then," Reuben snapped.

The demon took a deep breath and dropped his eyes to the carpet, "You asked me to retrieve some papers from the safe house in Harlem, in case anyone stumbled across them."

"I did," Reuben agreed, already frustrated with the conversation.

"Well, we got there, but there was someone had already been. Kyle and Will were dead," he said, his voice dropping lower and lower, "And...they...they...err..."

Reuben stepped forwards across the plush cream carpet, right into his personal space, and he felt a little burst of pride go through him when the demon recoiled a little, shrinking back in fear. Working on his reputation for being a merciless killer was clearly working. He'd be as feared as Alastair and Lilith had been before long.

"They did what?" he asked, his voice deadly calm. Selene was watching from the bed, slumped against the silk pillows, a wide, feline grin plastered across her face.

"They'd taken the papers," the demon said, a very obvious shake in his voice now, "All the information on the summoning and binding."

Reuben took a deep breath, a fine mist of red descending over his vision. If the hunters had their hands on that, they would know exactly what they were planning. Famine was already out and caged by Lucifer, but the ritual wasn't complete. He was out, but he needed strength, needed feeding. He was a greedy little bastard. Lucifer had told him in no uncertain terms that the twenty souls he had managed to procure wouldn't be enough. Raising the Horseman and unlocking their powers took a complex, elaborate ritual, in which everything had to be absolutely perfect, not a single thing out of place. It had been hard enough luring the hunters out last time, and now he would have to devise a whole new plan. If the hunters had their hands on those ancient enochian documents and translated it, he was screwed. He couldn't imagine them sitting back and letting it happen.

"Everything?" he asked in a tightly controlled voice.

The demon stayed mute and simply nodded.

He raised his fist back and punched the demon right across the mouth, so hard he heard the satisfying crack of bones and the smelt the blood blossoming up underneath the skin. Selene let out a little muffled giggle.

"What did I tell you?" he roared, and the demon flinched against the wall.

"Not to let anyone take those pages," the demon mumbled.

He crossed the space between them in two strides and grabbed the demon by the throat, feeling the windpipe bending and constricting beneath his fingers.

"You should wish you're in Kyle and Will's place," he hissed, "Because when I'm through with you, you'll wish you never had the misfortune to fuck up my plans."

He pulled a knife from his pocket, ensuring he only touched the wooden handle. He pressed the silver blade against the demons skin, carving a deep bloody gash across the demons chest, relishing in the hissing, sputtering noise of burnt flesh. The demon tried to say something else, but he cut him off by digging the blade into his stomach and twisting savagely. Splatters of crimson blood streaked across the thick designer wallpaper.

"W-wait," the demon stuttered around a mouthful of blood, "We saw who it was. We saw who took them!"

Reuben pulled the knife out with a sickening squelch, "What good does that do?"

"It doesn't do any good," Selene called maliciously from the bed, "Kill him."

"She had dark hair," the demon blabbered, clearly panicked, "Short dark hair, and she was with a guy in a trench coat."

Reuben paused in the act of lifting the blade to his throat, "A trench coat?"

The demon nodded, a flash of hope in his eyes, clearly thrilled he might have stumbled across something of interest, "Yeah. He was with the woman."

"Was she wearing a silver pentagram, about this big?" he gestured with his fingers. The demon nodded, his eyebrows knotted with confusion.

Rueben lifted the knife away from his neck, a slow smile breaking out across his face. Perfect. Miriana was here.

"Go on, get out," he said, gesturing to the door, "Get out of my sight."

The demon turned and dashed through the door without a second glance, clutching his bloodstained clothes around him.

"What the hell was that about?" Selene demanded, getting up from the bed, wrapped in the sheet.

He ignored her and walked over the long windows, staring out across the network of glittering stars that was Manhattan. She was somewhere down there, in that mess of concrete skyscrapers and crowded avenues. He should have known she wouldn't be able to resist getting involved in the action. She did see herself as such a little heroine.

"Why didn't you just kill him?" Selene hissed in his ear, "He fucked up!"

"He gave me a good piece of news," he said, turning to her with a maniac grin on his face, "Guess who's in town with our group of hunters?"

She frowned, then a slow smile dawned across her face, "Miriana."

He nodded, "Exactly. Ready to get ourselves a new little toy?"

"Definitely," she purred, leaning forward to give him a bruising kiss on the lips.

"Wait," she said, pulling back, "What about Famine? You know how delicate those rituals are, and the boss won't be happy if it doesn't work. You've been planning this for ages."

"All we have to do is lure them in," he said, excitement bursting in chest, like a kid who has been given a coveted toy at Christmas, "Lay a false trail, a false ritual. Pick a few demons, few enough so they think that they can win, and wait. When they come, ambush them and give them to Famine. All the warding and everything else can be done beforehand; they won't be able to tell."

"What about Miriana?" she asked, "We can't play with her if Famine takes her. She'll just be left as a shell." She pouted, her full lower lip jutting out, "That's no fun at all."

"We pull her from the others," he said simply, "It's not hard."

Selene frowned again, evidently running up against another problem, "But Lucifer won't give you any time with her. You know that. You haven't done enough service for him to give you your prize yet."

"After this he will," he said, cheeks flushed with blood and eyes glittering, "All those hunters, with all their angst and grief and self hatred. And don't forget angel boy. The soul of one of God's fallen servants will fatten him up nicely."

Selene smiled, a wide gleaming smile, and pulled him back towards the bed, her nails digging into his arm.

_Yeah,_ he thought, as Selene threw him against the mattress, _Things are working out perfectly._


	13. Livin' On the Edge

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter :) I know it's only short but it's an intermediate to get to some more exciting stuff. Anyway, a huge thank you and a hug to anyone who has left a review or a favourite, I hope you're all still enjoying it. :)_

Miriana leaned across to Ethan and whispered in his ear, "What are we doing here again?"

"Stopping the ritual to bring Famine to power," he whispered back, "That demon we caught told us it would be tonight, in the basement of this hotel. We've got one chance to put a spanner in the works."

Miriana glanced up at the top of the flashy hotel, scraping against the velvet blue sky, "How are they going to manage carrying out an occult ritual in the middle of one of New York's top hotels?"

"We reckon they've cleared the place, stationed demons to keep people out," he replied.

"How many?" she asked, slightly panicked. The hotel was huge; that could mean a lot of demons. They were twenty two hunters altogether, but there was no guarantee that would be enough.

"Not that many we think," Ethan said confidently, "The demon said there was something else going with Lucifer, that most of them would be there. They'd don't need many to keep the ritual going."

She eyed the huge panes of glossy glass and elegant architecture of the front entrance, "Is Famine in there?"

"We don't know," Ethan answered, "But even if he is, he'll be weak. Not strong enough to do anything to us."

Miriana turned to him, her eyebrows raised, "Are you completely sure?"

Ethan grinned a little sheepishly, "Ninety nine point nine percent."

"I don't like it," said a gruff voice behind them, right in her ear, making Miriana jump almost a foot in the air.

"Bloody hell Cas, don't do that," she hissed, clutching her chest.

"Sorry," he said, "But this is too easy."

She saw Ethan's posture tense all over, "Look, no offence dude, but we have good Intel on this okay? We're a good group of hunters, we know our stuff."

"Well, no offence," Cas said, his tone dripping with venom, "But I hardly think a demon is the most trustworthy source of information. You're putting your life on the line." His eyes flickered to Miriana for the briefest of seconds, then back to Ethan, "Everyone's lives."

"Look, I don't-" Ethan began, but Miriana held up a hand, frustrated.

"Stop arguing," she snapped, "Now isn't the time."

Ethan grumbled something under his breath and turned away; Cas simply stepped back, looking affronted.

At that moment, Eve appeared, carrying a loaded shotgun in her hand, a vial of holy water on a thick black chain hanging around her neck.

"Ready to go?" she asked, "We'll split up when we get in there and work through the first level in groups of four, clear out any demons."

Miriana pushed herself away from Tank's pickup truck, which she had been leaning against, and checked her shotgun was loaded with rock salt rounds.

"Great," she said, falling into step beside her aunt as they crossed the road, which was surprisingly quiet for a New York street, especially considering there were several clubs down the avenue that should have been bustling, queues of scantily clad women and slightly drunk men trailing out of the door. Both Cas and Ethan followed very close behind her, like a pair of faithful guard dogs. She couldn't help but feel a little stifled, and had to fight the urge to tell them both to back off. She saw Eve glance behind her, an amused smirk on her face.

The foyer of the hotel was suspiciously quiet, gentle classical music filtering through large speakers fixed into the wall. There was no one behind the glossy mahogany desk, nor was there anyone sat on the wide leather seats in the elegant lounge, no one at the long, polished bar. She felt out of place in her weathered jeans and tattered shirt; the decor was so elegant and classy she felt like she should be dressed in a floor length gown and stiletto heels.

Tank let out a long, low whistle behind them, "Classy, huh?"

"We need to get started," Eve said in a businesslike tone, ignoring Tank's comment, "Split up into groups of four and dig around, flush out any demons, then we'll head downstairs and find the fastest way to trash the ritual. Miriana, you head upstairs."

Immediately Ethan was at her side, followed a second later by Cas, the both of them glaring suspiciously at one another out of the corner of their eyes. She saw the amused smirk light up her aunts face again as she turned and headed for the sweeping staircase in the corner.

The plush corridor at the top of stairs was empty, and the thick crimson carpet and expensive cream wallpaper seemed to muffle all sound. A door at the end of the hall was ajar, and one of the fluted wall lights was smashed, a pile of glittering glass on the floor, but aside from that there was no sign of any disturbance.

Cas leaned down so his mouth was against her ear, perhaps to make sure Ethan couldn't hear him, "I don't like this at all, Miriana. It feels completely wrong."

She turned her head so she could see his face, suddenly very aware of how close he was, "Like what?"

"There's something else here," he muttered.

At that moment, there came a weak moaning from the end of the hall, a noise so quiet she wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the muffled silence. All three of them tensed, and Miriana convulsively tightened her grip on the shotgun.

"Help," came a raspy croak, emanating from the open door at the end of the hall, "Please, someone help."

Miriana immediately raced towards the door, Cas and Ethan close behind her. She threw herself through the open door without even thinking. She caught a flash of dark hair and a cruel, satisfied smirk, then the door slammed shut and locked behind her.

He was just a second too late to stop her, a second too late to slam his hand against the door and stop it closing. He smelt the stench of sulphur almost as soon as he was in the vicinity of the hotel room, but hadn't had a chance to warn her.

He heard her panicked shout, the banging of her hands against the wood loud in the hushed quiet.

"Miriana?" he called, panicked. There was a surge of fear in his chest, stifling and overwhelming. He hadn't seen what was inside the room, but he didn't need to; he guessed Reuben had found a way to get his hands on the object of his twisted infatuation. He slammed his hand against the door in frustration, although he knew it would do no good. Miriana's voice had fallen completely silent.

"What the hell happened?" Ethan yelled, grabbing the door handle and rattling it, "It's locked."

He threw his shoulder against the wood, but the door didn't even budge slightly, "What the fuck?"

He aimed the barrel of the shotgun at the polished brass handle, but Cas nudged it away, "That will not do any good."

"What's in there?" he demanded, pointing at the door, "What's got her?"

"I don't know," he lied smoothly, fighting to keep calm, "Go and get Eve and I'll try and get the door open."

Ethan raced down the hall, throwing himself down the steps. He focused as hard as he could on the lock mechanism, but the warding on the door was strong, and his waning powers weren't enough to break through it. He growled in frustration, slamming his fist against the wood so hard he split the skin over his knuckles so beads of blood sprang forth. In the past, it would have been as easy as breathing to crack the lock open, but know he was completely powerless, trapped outside whilst a sadistic demon had Miriana pinned like a butterfly on a board. His head throbbed painfully, his weak powers struggling against the warding.

He was contemplating what might be a rather ill advised attempt to kick the door down, when there came a piercing scream of agony from downstairs.

She knew she had made a mistake the second she caught the cruel gleam of his smile, glittering in the warm amber light, but as soon as she turned the door slammed in her face, the ominous scrape as the door locked loud in her ears. She desperately tried the handle, but she wasn't surprised when it didn't budge, no matter how hard she rattled it. She heard Cas shout her name, but it seemed oddly muffled and very far away.

"Don't bother sweetheart," Reuben drawled, throwing himself on the wide double bed.

She hammered a few more times till the palms of her hands were red, then she gave up and slumped against the wood, whilst he watched her, a self satisfied smirk across his face.

"I'd much rather you just join me over here," he said huskily, stroking the silk covered sheets. She felt as if his eyes could see straight through the fabric of her clothes to the black lace bra and panties she wore underneath. She felt horribly exposed.

"I think I'll stay over here thanks," she said, frustrated at herself for the tremble she heard in her own voice.

He was in front of her in the space of a second, pressing her right up against the wood, his lips hovering over her neck, right above where her pulse thundered.

"You don't have a choice," he growled against her neck. She cried out before she could stop herself when his teeth scraped ferally against the soft skin of her throat, leaving her skin stinging.

"Now, now," a calm voice emanated from the shadows of the room, a voice that raised the hairs on the back of her neck and set her skin crawling, "That isn't how we treat the fairer sex."

Reuben sprang away from her immediately like he had been burned, a rarely seen look of terror plastered across his face.

"Sir, I-I," he stuttered, but the figure in the shadows waved his hand dismissively.

"Don't worry Reuben, we all have our little slip ups when we should be doing our duties."

He stepped out of the shadows and Miriana felt the sharp burn of adrenalin and fear flood into her system, constricting her throat, her heart threatening to burst out of her chest.

"Now, why don't you introduce me to this delightful woman?" Lucifer said, his wide smile bright in the amber shadows of the room.


	14. Dance With the Devil

_Hi guys, hope you all enjoy this chapter. It's a little shorter than I planned, but college work and universoty stuff is being dumped on me on the moment. Anyway, big thanks and hugs as always to everyone who left a review, I hope you're still enjoying it. I hope it's not boring, but I have some good stuff planned, so stick with me. :) On a completely different note, has anyone seen Harry Potter yet? it's AMAZING! _

Miriana remained pinned against the door, completely frozen with fear. Lucifer continued to smile kindly, his teeth a dull copper gleam in the warm half light of the room. She glanced at Reuben, who was lurking in the shadows gathered in the corner of the room, a look of pure terror plastered across the handsome face of his host, spots of colour splashed along his high cheekbones. It was a look she had never seen on his face before.

"Come now, Reuben don't be shy," Lucifer said in a clam voice, "Introduce her."

"This is Miriana, sir," Reuben said, his voice remarkably calm despite the iron hard set of his shoulders, "Miss Miriana Westchild."

Lucifer stepped a little closer, fully into the light, so she could face the face of his unfortunate host completely. He was remarkably nondescript, the face of any man on the street; she wondered who he had been, and if there was even a speck of him left inside, or if he had been burned away by Lucifer completely. His hair was a pale sandy blonde, and there was the slightest bit of stubble on his chin. He was dressed in battered jeans and a dark blue shirt, completely ordinary. The only things that seemed remarkable about him were his eyes, a bright piercing blue that seemed to burn straight through her clothes, right underneath her bones all the way down to her skin. They reminded her of Cas, only there was nothing warm and gentle in the Devil's eyes; there was as cold and hard as slivers of ice, despite the kind smile.

Lucifer pressed a finger to his chin, as if he was thinking hard, "Miss Westchild. I have heard so many things about you."

She wanted to speak, but she couldn't find her voice, lost somewhere in her throat. He took a few more steps across the plush carpet towards her, and she shrank back against the door, wishing more than anything that she could sink through the wood and disappear from under that searching, unsettling gaze.

"Don't be afraid my girl," Lucifer said softly, his voice like a snake, sliding and slithering over her skin, "I won't hurt you."

She swallowed hard, and somehow her voice seemed to reappear, "I don't believe that. Aren't you the prince of lies after all?"

He laughed softly, an insidious sound that made her skin crawl, "I can see why you like her. Not afraid to speak her mind."

She could feel the sweat dampening the shirt between her shoulder blades, and it was hard to breathe. She felt as if the oxygen was being sucked from the room. She wondered if Cas was still on the other side of the door, just a few inches of wood away from her. She wanted to tell him to run, to tell everyone in the building to run as far as they could, out of New York.

Lucifer reached out his hand in a sudden movement, resting his long fingers against her temple. She winced the instant she felt his skin brush against hers; it felt as if something was scraping inside her skull, scratching against the bone, dragging across the soft tissues. She could feel him inside her mind, rifling through her memories like he was perusing a magazine, a burst of fire inside her head. It was uncomfortable; she felt as if he had stripped her naked, torn her down to her bare core. She wanted to scream, but she couldn't pull enough air into her lungs to fuel it. She was paralyzed, weak, defenceless, no way to fight against the fire in her mind that threatened to overwhelm her.

She let out a tiny gasp of relief when the feeling snapped, like an elastic band that had been pulled too tight. The invasive force in her mind retreated, leaving her shaking against the door.

"Interesting," Lucifer said pensively, "Very interesting."

He paced a few times across the carpet, "I think I'd like to learn a little more about you, Miss Westchild. Perhaps you would join me for a drink in the penthouse? I can assure you there is a beautiful view of the city."

She risked a glance of Reuben, who was glaring at her with a look of absolute disbelief on his face. Evidently he thought Lucifer would kill her, or throw her back to him and let him have his wicked way with her. She had to admit she completely agreed with him. She would never have believed on her first meeting with the devil that he would invite her for a cordial drink in a penthouse.

"I-I," she stuttered, her tongue feeling like a lump of lead in her mouth, "I..."

"Don't be shy," the devil murmured, reaching out to place a hand against her shoulder, "Join me."

There an uncomfortable feeling of falling, of weightlessness as he moved them up forty storeys in the blink of an eye, then her feet touched down gently on a thick golden coloured carpet, the heady smell of incense invading her throat. She opened her eyes and was greeted with a half lit room swathed in thick shadows.

Lucifer was stood silhouetted against the floor length windows, the lights from the stars and the city illuminating the edges of his frame. Reuben lurked in the corner like a trap spider, his eyes fixed on Miriana.

Lucifer stepped forwards into the pool of light that emanated from the tiffany lamp on the long table in the middle of the room. He gave a casual slick of his long fingered hands, and a chair smoothly slid across the carpet towards her.

"Please," Lucifer said softly, gesturing towards the high backed chair, "Sit."

She dropped into the chair, bolt upright and shaking all over. She folded her hands in her lap, wincing when she saw the shake in them. Lucifer's eyes followed the movement of her hands with his eyes, and the slightest of smiles curled up the corner of his lips.

"You seem so terrified," he said, leaning casually against the chair on the opposite side of the glass topped table, "I wouldn't worry. I have no intention of harming you. Even though you do keep company with the Winchesters."

She tensed all over at the sound of their name, and his smile twitched a little further.

"I don't intend to hurt them, either," he said, inspecting his nails, "Well, not little Sammy anyway. I would never hurt him."

"You want him as your vessel," she said, the anger helping to steady the shake in her voice, "You won't get him. He won't say yes."

The smile faded ever so slightly, but it was his eyes that changed; they cooled and hardened, like steel in winter. She shivered a little, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Reuben slink a little further into the shadows.

"Is that so?" his tone seemed amused, but it was laced with venom.

"Yes," she said defiantly, "It won't happen."

The devil raised his eyebrows, "You see, I think it _is_ going to happen. Very soon. In Detroit. Don't you think Reuben?"

She turned to look at him, half hidden in the shadows, his posture tense and poised, like a frightened animal ready to bolt.

"Yes sir," he said, turning his dark gaze to Miriana, "Sam Winchester is weak. He'll give in."

"No he isn't weak," Lucifer argued, "I just know I'm stronger."

She wanted so badly to hit something, her hands seemed to itch. She clenched her hands into tight fists and pressed back against the seat. She wasn't about to let her impulsive fury get her reduced to a pile of ashes smoking on the expensive carpet.

He turned back to the window, his head tilted upwards as if he was contemplating the velvety night sky above the haze of light that was New York City. She thought of the hunters; what traps had he laid for them? What had they willingly blundered into? Cas had been right, she should have listened to him. But like always, she thought she knew better. What would they do to him once they discovered his powers were waning?

"What have you done to the others?" she asked, "What have you done to my family?"

Lucifer turned to face her, a fleeting look of confusion on his face.

"Ah of course," he said, folding his arms across his chest, "Reuben's cunning little plan."

She turned to glare at Reuben, fighting the urge to launch across the distance and rip his throat out. His sadistic obsession was with her; why did he always have to drag Nate and Eve into his twisted little games?

"What plan?" she gritted out between her teeth.

Lucifer shook his head in mock disbelief, "See how you upset the poor girl? He was intending to trap them and hand them over to famine, so he could feast on their souls. These horsemen need so much care, you see."

Rueben said nothing, but she saw him wring his long hands. She wondered how badly he wanted to throttle the life out of her. By the look on his cruelly handsome face, very badly. She felt sick, her stomach roiling with nausea, the bodies they had found in the warehouse floating in front of her eyes. If that happened to her aunt, she would never forgive herself.

Lucifer seemed to contemplate the glass table, drumming his fingers lightly against it, "Call your demons off, Reuben. Call famine off."

Reuben bristled furiously, a look of complete disbelief across his face, "Sir, are-are you sure that-"

"Call them off," Lucifer said firmly, and there was the slightest note of threat bubbling under the seemingly calm tone, "Leave them be." She shivered, feeling the slightest crackle of _something _race through the room and across her skin, raising the hairs on her arms. Reuben shrank back ever so slightly, all arrogance and ego gone.

"Of course sir," he said, inclining his head, "I'll go immediately."

He vanished on the spot, and Lucifer let out a long sigh, the sigh of someone who was incredibly weary. He turned his gaze to her and shook his head slowly.

"I truly hate demons," he said, his voice dark, "Filthy, disgusting things. Worse than humans."

"I don't mean you of course, my child," he said hurriedly, as if he was afraid he had hurt her feelings.

He gracefully lowered himself into the chair opposite her, leaning casually on the armrest.

"Now that he's gone," he began, "I'm looking forward to having a chat with you."

* * *

Cas followed the sound of the scream, sprinting down the hall and into the immaculate lobby. There was no sign of any of the hunters; it was completely empty. After the scream he had heard, there was no other noise, just a heavy, uncomfortable silence. He stalked across the polished marble floor, sliding a hand into his pocket and pulling free a silver knife Eve had given him. He figured that with his powers waning, it was best to have another way to defend himself, so he had asked her for any spare weapons. He didn't have a clue how to use a gun, so he guessed his best option was knife. He had fought with them before in the past, after all.

The scream sounded again, cutting through the tense hush. It was emanating from a corridor to his left and he followed it again, stopping short when he reached an open door, the room inside completely pitch black. He stepped inside cautiously, holding the knife tightly in his hand.

He started when the light flicked on, drenching the room in warm amber light. He was in a wide hotel room, and lounging provocatively on the silk covered bed in front of him was a demon, her long glossy dark chocolate coloured hair swept elegantly over her shoulders in thick waves. The neckline of her crimson silk blouse was cut indecently low, and her black skirt was hiked high up her thighs. The face of her human host was beautiful, he supposed, full lips and high cheekbones, but he winced when he studied the face underneath. His powers were fading, but he could still see her warped and twisted face with its greying skin and dull black eyes. It made his stomach turn over, and he gripped the knife tighter in his hand, imagining what it would feel like sinking into her chest. He recognized her; one of Reuben's most faithful demons, Selene.

"Come to rescue me angel boy?" she purred. He was gripping the knife so tight his hand was beginning to cramp.

"Rescue you, hardly," he hissed, "Kill you perhaps."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport," she grumbled, slithering off the bed and stalking towards him, "Don't you want some fun?"

She came a little closer, and he caught the cloying stench of sulphur, making him retch. He recoiled and she laughed, "Don't look so disgusted. I'm really quite delicious."

He wrinkled his nose, "Keep away."

"Or what?" she hissed, grabbing hold of the front of his trench coat and throwing him onto the bed. She straddled him, her skirt riding high up her thighs, and he flinched away, his stomach bubbling with bile. Just touching her made him feel unclean, tainted.

"Poor little thing," she breathed in his ear, "All frustrated and wanting. Your little woman not putting out?"

"What?" he asked, struggling to get out from underneath her roving hands.

"Miriana," she said breathlessly, " Reuben's little plaything. She must be a frigid little bitch if she won't sleep with you."

Her tongue snaked out and swept across the skin of his neck, and he fought back the bile in his throat, "You're delicious. Who would have guessed an angel tastes like candy?"

"Get your filthy hands off me," he growled, trying to free his hands and go for the knife.

"Don't fight it, angel face," she murmured against his neck, "You can even call me Miriana if you want to."

He felt his fingers close around the smooth hilt of the silver knife, and he threw her hand off his and swiped the silver knife right down her face and she recoiled, screaming in registers so high he was surprised the glass in the windows didn't shatter. She jumped backwards, clutching at her face, hot streaks of blood running over her fingers.

"You bastard!" she shrieked, leaping towards him, "You must have something wrong with you if you won't go with me!"

He dodged her lunge and shoved her hard in the small of her back, so she crashed into the wall, "I'd rather die first."

She leaned against the wall, breathing like a wounded animal, a half crazed look in her eyes, the cut he had given slowly dripping crimson blood onto the carpet "If you wanted to play rough all you had to do was say."

She lunged at him again, but before she could reach him an arm flew across her chest, stopping her dead. Reuben gave her a warning look before he shoved her backwards.

"Boss's orders," he ground out through gritted teeth, "None of them are to be harmed. Including,"

He turned to look at Castiel, a look of pure burning hatred on his face, "Cloud hopper over here."

He frowned; Lucifer was sparing their lives? All of them? Since when had he been so merciful?

Selene huffed in disappointment, slumping back against the wall, folding her arms.

Reuben locked eyes with Castiel, an unspoken challenge in them. It took all of his willpower not to beat the demon into pulp, after everything he had done to Miriana. The thought of his hands on her made his veins run hot with the fire of fury.

"I'm guessing you want to kill me," Reuben said, a hint of mockery in his voice, "Worried you can't?"

He said nothing, but Reuben laughed, a cold hard sound, "I know you're losing your powers. You're only half angel now, I'm guessing. And I'm full demon. Still think you can keep Miriana all to yourself?"

"If you lay a hand on her," he growled, "I'll turn you into ash."

The demon simply smirked, "I'll have her you know. One day soon, I'll have that little bitch as my toy, screaming in agony. I'm gonna tear her open , then put her back together and do it over, and over and over again. And there won't be a thing you can do to stop it."

He and Selene vanished from the room, leaving him alone, the harsh burn of adrenaline in his veins, still gripping the bloody knife in his fist.


	15. Sympathy for the Devil

_Hi hope you all enjoy this chapter :) a big thank you to everyone who left a review or favourite, I hope you're still enjoying it. Lucifer is up to something, but I don't want to give it away. I hope you'll like his plan when I do eventually reveal it :) Anyhoo, enjoy :)_

How about a drink?" Lucifer suggested, standing up and heading to a glossy, glass fronted mahogany cabinet in the corner of the room.

"No thank you," she muttered. She didn't think alcohol would help the situation she was in.

"Really," he continued, placing an elegant fluted glass of wine firmly down on the table in front of her, "I insist."

She studied the liquid in front of her whilst he poured a glass for himself. Who knew what the hell he had put in it?

"One of the finer aspects of humanity," he said, sinking into the chair, swilling the wine around in the glass, "One of the only fine aspects of humanity."

He took a long swig of the rich dark liquid, and then turned his intense gaze back to her, "I'm sorry. There I go insulting humanity again."

He smiled at her over the rim of his glass, and the sight of it unsettled her, made her cold right down to her bones. His eyes seemed to catch all the light in the dim room, so they seemed to glow with orbs of fire.

"You are a rare exception to the rule, of course," he said softly, placing his wine glass down carefully in front of him, the chink of glass on glass startlingly loud in the hushed room.

He glanced at down at her untouched glass, a hint of a mocking smile in his eyes, "Drink. I promise I haven't poisoned you. If I wanted to kill you, I would find a far more inventive way believe me."

She didn't want to drink it, but she guessed she might not have much of a choice. She picked the glass up; gripping the narrow stem so tight she was worried it might shatter in her hands. She lifted it to her lips, and took a tentative sip, steeling herself for some sudden ripping agony as the poison slipped down her throat. But there wasn't any, just the rich, heady taste of the wine, better than any she had tasted. She briefly wondered how expensive the bottle had been.

"What do you want with me?" she asked, although she wasn't entirely sure she wanted to hear the answer.

The corners of his lips quirked up again, "People always assume the worst of me you know."

"Can't think why," she let her sarcastic tone slip through without thinking, "Generally murder, lying and trying to destroy the planet won't endear you to people."

He gave a quiet laugh of genuine humour, "I can see why he likes you. So full of fire."

She frowned, "Why who likes me?"

He ignored the question, "I haven't actually done that much murdering and lying, Miss Westchild. Merely people choosing to do it in my name. Is that really my fault?"

"There must be a reason Daddy kicked you out of the house," she snapped, instantly regretting her tone.

She saw the slightest slip in his smile, a glimpse of something else, something cold, and cruel and terrifying, and she had the sense she had touched a raw nerve. He soon regained it though, that serene expression back on his face, "My father was mistaken, I think. Besides, it was Michael who did the kicking."

"And why was that again?" she said, wishing she could put a stop to the sarcastic tone. It must be the nerves, "Oh, that's right. You wanted to wipe out all of humanity. No you're right, that's completely healthy and normal. Michael clearly misjudged you."

"You must be careful with all that fire in your veins, Miss Westchild," he said, and his voice was deceptively calm, something else bubbling underneath it, "It may burn you."

Sensing she'd crossed a line, she sat back in her seat and took a long swig of wine, very aware that his eyes tracked her every little movement, no doubt analysing everything she did.

"People always paint me as the villain," he said, and she thought she sensed the tiniest hint of real, genuine sadness, the sadness of thousands of years of imprisonment and hatred, "But I am not the only one that has done wrong. I loved my brother. I loved Michael more than anything, but I when I went to him and asked him to stand with me, he cut me down."

"You wanted to destroy humanity," she said in a derisive tone, "Did you really believe he would help you?"

"Can you blame me?" he asked, "Look at the world around you. The wars, the grief, the pain. That isn't me, Miriana. That's just humanity, just the corruption and greed of it all."

She said nothing to this, simply watched him as he stood up, brushing his hands against the weathered jeans of his host. For some reason, she had always expected the devil to be in a suit. She supposed that was a symptom of watching too many Hollywood films.

"I'm not the one everyone should blame for the state of this world," he continued, draining the glass of the last of its wine, "Is Michael so much better than me? He's prepared to burn this world down just as much as I am, all because he won't hear me out."

Miriana took another fortifying swig of alcohol, "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you? Am I supposed to buy into all this sympathy for the devil bullshit?"

He shook his head, "I don't expect you to feel sorry for me, Miss Westchild. I just expect you to hear my side."

"What side?" she demanded, "This is just two brothers having a temper tantrum, fighting to get Daddy's approval. And your petty argument is going to destroy half the world."

"I don't want to destroy this planet," he said, and she almost believed him. No wonder they called him the prince of lies, "It's a beautiful thing. A masterpiece. I don't want this fight to happen."

"Then don't fight!" she exclaimed, almost knocking over her glass of wine, "Just talk, like ordinary people!"

He laughed again, louder and more mirthful than before, his head tipping back, "You make it sound so easy."

"It is easy!" she snapped, almost forgetting whose presence she was stood in, "Jesus Christ, you might be angels, but you're such stupid _men._"

His laugh died down to a chuckle, and he scrutinized her carefully, a half smile still across his lips, "It's a pity I haven't met you before, Miriana. You are an entertaining little thing."

"You still haven't answered my question," she pressed, "What do you want with me?"

He leaned casually against the high backed chair, "All in good time."

With the adrenaline and burn of anger gone from her system, the tremble began to set back in, so she folded her arms to hide it. He was so conciliatory and his vessel so normal looking it was easy to forget who...what he really was. As odd as it sounded, she didn't like the way she was still alive. It was obvious he hated humanity, so why hadn't he crushed her like an insect? Why was he letting her and the others live? It only made her think he had something else planned for her, which set a coil of dread twisting her stomach into knots.

"Why haven't you killed me, and everyone else?" she asked, "Why let us live?"

He pressed his hands together, as if he was praying, and regarded her carefully over his long fingers, "I like you Miriana. You're unique."

"That's not the reason," she said.

"No you're right, it's not," he agreed, "But it makes it easier to keep you breathing. I have such a temper you see."

She didn't like the sound of that at all, "What do you mean?"

"I'm afraid now is not the time to tell you that," he said, in final tone that suggested any more questions would not be welcome.

"Err, I think now is the time to tell me!" she snapped, wishing she was capable of reining her anger in.

He laughed again, a genuine sound of mirth, "Yes, I really do understand the attraction."

Incredibly frustrated with his subtle hints and evasive comments, she rolled her eyes, "What attraction?"

"The one between you and my little brother of course," he answered matter of factly.

"Little brother?" she asked, confused.

"Castiel," he said, inspecting his fingernails casually.

Her stomach dropped right down right through all the floors of the skyscraper, right down to the ground floor. How did he know?

"How...how do..." she stuttered, unable to finish.

"I heard the whispers and the gossip about my little brother since my return," he said, sliding back down into the high backed chair, "All about his fall from grace. Meg seems quite obsessed with it."

"That doesn't mean I was the reason," she said, although she suspected her voice and face had told him everything.

"I know full well you're the reason, Miss Westchild," he said, a hint of impatience in his otherwise calm tone, "He may have wanted to be out from underneath heaven's oppressive rule and its misguided decisions, but I'd bet a lifetime in hell that he only felt like rebelling because he found himself a delicious little thing like you."

She didn't much appreciate being called delicious, but she bit her tongue.

"I knew the second you disappeared out from under my radar that it was you he was infatuated with," he informed her, "Hell knows your name, Miriana. Almost as much as it knows the Winchesters, and I wanted to come looking for you, but you soon vanished, and I knew my little brother was protecting you."

Again she said nothing, simply tried not to squirm under his intense, watchful gaze, "I'm not surprised you caught his eye. I may think humanity is a primeval soup of cloth wearing monkeys, but you burn so brightly compared to the rest of them."

"I don't think I do," she said, finally finding her voice, "I'm pretty ordinary in fact."

"And so modest," he continued as if she hadn't spoke, "A very attractive trait I must say. He mustn't know what to do with himself when you're around. I don't ever remember him having many social skills."

"I can agree with that," she said, then mentally slapped herself. Why was she talking to him like he was a friend?

Lucifer smiled softly, a dull gleam of teeth, "He must love you more than anything, to fall from heaven, to rebel. He did a very naughty thing with you, you know; ought to have his wrists slapped really. If there's one thing I can't tolerate its disloyalty, but in this case..." his eyes raked over her slowly, "I think I can make an exception."

"You don't seem like the sort of guy that makes exceptions," she noted.

"I don't blame him for being tempted," he said "And he was right to against heaven. They've become weak and greedy and corrupt. Perhaps I should recruit him as my next disillusioned soldier."

"Leave him alone," she snapped before, she could stop herself. In a much softer tone, she added, "Please don't hurt him."

Lucifer gave an appreciative smile, "So protective. The strength of love is a curious thing. Let me ask you, Miss Westchild, would be prepared to die for him?"

She didn't like the sudden drastic turn the conversation had taken, "I...I..." she stammered weakly.

"Answer the question," he demanded.

"I..." she thought about it hard, thought about the softness in his eyes when he looked at her, the fierce protectiveness, the way he held her when he kissed her. "Yes. Yes I would."

He seemed almost satisfied by her answer, and leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers, "I've kept you for long enough, my dear. You can leave. I imagine Castiel is beside himself with worry."

She stayed frozen in her seat, even when he gestured towards the door and it swung open smoothly. It couldn't be that simple, a nice little chat and then a dismissal. Would he murder her while her back was turned, or would she wander downstairs to find he had gone back on his word and find her family slaughtered?

"Go on, Miss Westchild," he said calmly.

She stood up, surprised her shaking legs would carry her, then wobbled over to the door and stepped through into the warmly lit corridor.

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Miriana," he called after her, his voice seeming to seep through the air and brush against her skin. She staggered over to the lift and punched the button, gratefully throwing herself into it as the door slid open smoothly. She waited until she was certain the lift door was closed, then sank down to the floor, her heart hammering away in her chest, as if it had realised how close it had come to stopping altogether.


	16. Come Clarity

_Okay, first I must apologize for how late this update is, but college has been incredibly hectic this past couple of weeks. I have a load of important exams in late January and so my teachers have dumped an astronomical amount of work and revision on me recently, and I've been helping my mum deal with the fallout of losing my grandma and grandad so closely after one another. It's wierd how much grief takes it out of you. I've also had university offers and interviews that has had me travelling all over England to various universities. Also, I'm always busy at Christmas, present shopping and parties and stuff, so I've been snowed under somewhat. :( Anyway, I'm hopefully going to get back on track this week, and I might manage another update before christmas day (fingers crossed). Anyway, I hope you'll still stick with me, and I can only apologise for the delay, and hope this chapter and upcoming chapters will make up it for it. Thank you all loads, you all deserve big hugs :) :) xxxx_

"Where is she?" demanded Eve, for what felt like the fifteenth time.

"I'm sure she'll be alright," Rhea said, although she didn't sound completely convinced. They had been stood outside the hotel for half an hour now, having found the place completely empty, but there was no sign of Miriana. The glossy entrance to the hotel remained devoid of movement.

Cas paced nervously back and forth, glancing up at the rows of windows that stretched up into the turbulent night sky, looking for any sign of movement. Five more minutes and he was going to scour every inch of that building until he found her.

"Still no reply," Nate said, grumpily shoving his phone back inside his jacket pocket.

"Right that's it," Ethan said, getting to his feet and grabbing his shotgun, "I'm going to look for her."

At that moment Eve let out a shriek and pointed across the road; they followed her finger to see a small figure slipping out of the lobby, half blending into the shadows underneath the entrance archway.

She reached the other side of the road and her aunt pulled her into a crushing hug, "Where the hell have you been? We were worried sick!"

Cas noticed that she took a long second before she answered, "I was just...uh...you know, dodging Reuben."

Her aunt regarded her suspiciously, "What does that mean, dodging Reuben?"

"It just...uh...took me a while to get away from him."

"And he just let you go?" asked Eve, frowning.

"Yep," Miriana replied, almost cheerfully.

She was lying; he could tell instantly. Her face was as white as snow, completely bleached of its colour by the overhead streetlamps. He noticed that when she lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair out of her face, it was shaking. He thought she looked close to the verge of tears.

"Right, well excellent," Nate said happily, "I say we get drinks at the hotel bar. My shout."

Eve glanced at her watch, "It's a bit late."

"Oh my God, you're such an old woman," Nate moaned, ignoring the furious look on his aunt's face, "Just a few drinks."

"Fine," she snapped, then muttered under her breath, "I'm _not_ an old woman."

* * *

Tank gave them a lift back in his battered truck, which looked completely out of place in the sleek avenues of New York, amongst the other glossy new cars that surrounded them on all sides. Nate was ecstatically happy when he was allowed to ride on the back of Ethan's Harley, although the seat had been offered to Miriana first. She politely declined, deciding that speeding on the back of a motorbike wouldn't be the best for her raw nerves.

The bar was far too loud for Castiel's liking, and filled with far too many irritating people. He eyed the bottles of beer the others bought with disgust, remembering his last unpleasant experience with alcohol.

Miriana was leaning against the sleek bar, set apart from the others, with a detached expression on her face. She was clutching her Jack Daniels and coke, but the drink was untouched, the ice melted away.

He sidled up alongside her, but she didn't respond until he touched her shoulder and she started, slopping a little bit of her drink over the wood.

"Sorry," he said, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No it's fine, I'm just..." she tailed off, her gaze drifting away again.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

She didn't respond for what seemed like a very long time; she eventually turned around with a confused expression on her face.

"Hmmm?"

"I asked if you're alright?" he said, watching her absent expression carefully.

"Oh yes...I'm fine," she said, one finger tracing the rim of her glass.

He slid his hand over hers, noticing how icy her skin was, "Did he do something to you?"

She turned to look at him properly, her eyes wide and dark, "No."

He gripped her hand a little tighter and leaned close, so he could smell her perfume, "What happened to you?"

She pulled her hand out from under his, frowning, "I just...need some air."

She was aware of his eyes burning a hole into her back as she weaved through the bar, desperate to get into fresh, cold air. She leaned against the wall outside, pulling deep breaths into her lungs. She couldn't be around Cas right now; he reminded her too much of Lucifer and his intensity, all of his searching looks. She felt sick, her stomach turning over and over. She could still taste the rich wine Lucifer had given her, but it seemed oddly metallic and bitter now. Even the cold city air seemed oddly tainted.

She started when she heard Ethan's voice, "Hey are you okay? You looked a little ill in there."

"I'm fine," she said, although she knew she didn't sound convincing at all. She wasn't fine at all; she was terrified, all of the devils softly murmured words circling round and round in her head, all of his thinly veiled threats.

"You look a little cold," he said, shrugging off his leather jacket, "Here."

"No it's alright," she said, but he shook his head.

"I insist," he said, helping her to pull it on. It was warm and smelt of a rich, musky aftershave.

"So that demon let you go, huh?" he said casually, although Miriana suspected it was her aunt's questions he was asking.

"Yeah, I guess he had something else to...erm...do," she finished lamely.

"So nothing else happened?" he pressed, and she laughed softly.

"You can tell my aunt if she wants to ask if I'm okay, she should do it herself," she said, noticing the slightest blush sprung up in his high cheekbones.

"Yeah, she's kind of scary lady when she wants to be," he muttered, "I didn't think it was a good idea not to do as she said."

She smiled and patted his arm, "Yeah, I'll agree with you there."

A comfortable silence fell between them, and in the lull in conversation, Miriana suddenly felt tiredness descend over her, leaving her drained.

"I think I'll go back to my room," she said, slipping his jacket off and handing it back to him, "I'm exhausted."

"I'll walk you," he said, opening the door into the lobby and standing aside to let her through. The ride in the lift was completely quiet, Ethan shooting her furtive looks as if he wanted to talk but couldn't think what to say.

He waited as she unlocked the door to her hotel room, and she was beginning to wonder when he would leave.

She turned to face him, hovering in the doorway, "Well...er...night."

She turned back into her room but he caught her wrist gently, "Look, Miriana I need to talk to you."

Her stomach dropped a few notches; she had the distinct feeling he wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"Yeah?" she said nervously.

He opened his mouth then shut it again. He hopped from foot to foot, his eyes flicking over her face.

"Look Ethan I really need-" she began, then he leaned forwards and kissed her.

She was so surprised she didn't react for the first few seconds, frozen to the spot. His lips were soft and hesitant, and he tasted sweet, like honey, completely the opposite of Cas, who tasted heady and dark, like bitter chocolate. She felt his hands on the curve of her waist, pulling her against him ever so slightly. He was a good kisser, she decided, tender and just a little bit teasing, scraping his teeth very lightly against her bottom lip. One part of her brain was screaming at her that this was wrong; another side seemed to be telling her that it was actually quite comfortable. Not at all like kissing Cas, which was like dousing herself in propane and setting herself alight, painful yet exhilarating and wonderful, all at the same time.

She pulled back, breaking contact with a little gasp. Ethan's eyes were dark and his cheeks were flushed, spots of bright colour across his high cheekbones. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I'm sorry," he said in a shaky voice, "I don't know why I just did that."

She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully, "Look Ethan-"

"I know that was stupid," he cut across her, "But I like you Miriana. Like, like you, like you."

"I don't think-" she began, but he cut her off by seizing her hands.

"I think you're gorgeous," he said earnestly, "And smart, and funny, and I just...I think you're amazing."

She gently pulled her hands out of his. She wasn't quite sure how to deal with this attention; she wasn't exactly used to men vying for her affections.

"I don't really think I can do this," she said as diplomatically as she could manage.

He took a step backwards, regarding her carefully, "Why?"

"Because..." she began, but couldn't think of much else to say. Why wasn't she doing this? Ethan was attractive, and kind and some of the things he did reminded her so much of Cristian it made her heart skip a few beats. He was a good hunter, and she would be safe with him. So why wouldn't she do this? She knew the answer, but she didn't want to voice it.

"Because I..." she began again, and Ethan sighed heavily.

"Is it that guy Cas?" he asked.

"I...sort of...I don't really know," she stuttered, and Ethan frowned.

"You're not going out with him?" he questioned.

"No," she answered, and the slightest smirk turned up the corners of his lips.

"So it's between me and him then, I guess?" he said, "The two of us fighting to win you over?"

Miriana rolled her eyes, "That's not exactly-"

He cut across her again, "Well bring it on. I like a good challenge."

"No Ethan I really don't-" she tried again, but again he cut across her.

"I don't give up easy, you know," he said matter of factly, backing down the plush hall to the lift, "I think I can win you over."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times, completely at a loss of something to say. He disappeared into the lift with a satisfied grin on his face, leaving her speechless at the doorway of her room, unaware that Cas had seen everything from a shadowy corner of the hallway.

* * *

It had been two weeks since the incident in New York, and Miriana had spent all the time since sightseeing in the city, feeling that she perhaps deserved a little break after escaping a confrontation with the devil unscathed. Her aunt knew that she was shaken up about something, and she tried every type of method to get the truth out of Miriana, but she wouldn't budge. She didn't want to drag anyone else into the situation; from what Lucifer had been suggesting, he wasn't done with her. He wanted something else, and she wasn't about to allow her family to get pulled into another one of her problems. Reuben was bad enough. She tried her hardest not to think about it, but to focus her mind on anything and everything else she could.

After fourteen days spent wandering around every corner of New York with her aunt, Nate tailing behind them carrying the shopping bags and complaining about being stuck with two women, Miriana got a phone call from Sam and Dean. It was with some dread that she answered the phone, fully aware that most hunts she went on with the Winchesters ended up with her in a worse state than she started off in. As it happened, they were going after the devil, in a town called Carthage, which was rife with omens. With some trepidation, she accepted their plea for help, although she was certain putting herself in the vicinity of Lucifer again was not a good idea. Despite her protestations, her Aunt and Nate insisted upon coming as well.

She curled up in the battered, threadbare couch in front of Bobby's fire, watching the deep orange flames snap and crackle around the smoke stained grate. It was early evening, and the sky outside was a soft dusky blue sprinkled with the first few stars. Aside from Bobby, who was sat poring over old leather bound tomes in his study, the house was empty. Her Aunt and Nate had driven into the nearest town to get food, and Sam, Dean, Ellen and Jo, who had also joined them on the hunt, were chasing after a demon that Cas had tracked down, that supposedly had the Colt that had been stolen by Bella. Miriana personally thought it was a wild goose chase; even if this demon did have the Colt, she didn't expect it to work. It seemed too perfect, too easy, and too quick. She didn't really expect that they could end the apocalypse with nothing but a bullet.

She hadn't seen Cas since New York, and the few times she had tried to call him, she had had no answer except that of his voicemail. She had been so panicked she had rung Dean, who had promptly informed her that he had spoken to Cas that morning, and couldn't understand why she was 'getting her panties in such a twist.' Bad tempered, she hung up on him, storming around the hotel room all morning, unable to shake the feeling that he was avoiding her.

Cas wasn't the only one she hadn't seen; she hadn't heard from Ethan either, and she couldn't decide if this was a good or bad thing. She was still in two minds about him; on the one hand, his declaration that he was going to win her over seemed very flattering, but on the other, it was incredibly irritating. She didn't appreciate being viewed like prize at a fair, although she felt she should be happy that she had two men vying for her attention. She simply wasn't used to it; at high school she had been ostracised and picked on, and no one had ever found her attractive, until she had met Cristian, who had swept her off her feet in matter of weeks. She went over and over it in her mind until she was tired of chasing her thoughts around her head. Ethan was a good hunter, kind, intelligent and quite clearly, for reasons she couldn't fathom, absolutely enamoured with her. She liked him, and it helped that he was easy on the eyes, with his shaggy chestnut coloured hair, clear green eyes and well built body. But he didn't make her blood run hot or her body feel weak the way Cas did. He didn't make her crave him the way a drug addict craves heroin, didn't make her feel exhilarated or ache with want. Being with Ethan was comfortable, like warming herself next to a fire; being with Cas was like standing _in_ the fire, letting the flames lick at her skin. It was rarely easy, difficult and painful, but she loved it. It made her feel fully alive for the first time since Cristian had been killed.

She uncurled herself from the armchair and stood up, stretching. She felt too flushed sitting so close to the fire.

"Bobby," she called, "I'm just going outside for some air."

"Right," he grunted from behind the tottering pile of books on his desk.

She slipped out of the back door, wincing when the cold air touched her overheated skin. She crunched across the gravel of Bobby's wide drive, heading towards the jumbled mess of abandoned cars. She slumped down wearily on the bonnet of an old Chevy truck with peeling paint and copious amounts of rust that creaked and groaned when she sat down. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and leaned back against the cracked windscreen, tilting her eyes up at the steadily deepening sky. There were more stars out now, and she could see them clearly; Bobby's house was far enough out of town that there was less light pollution. She had often lain for hours as a teenager on the piles of rusty cars, stargazing. When she met Cristian, she had often leaned against his broad chest for hours whilst he recited the names of all the stars and constellations, a blanket thrown over the both of them. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, surprised when it came away wet with tears. It was moments like this when she realized how much she actually missed him. She forgot sometimes, and then realisation came crashing back down on her like a ton of bricks.

Dean had made no attempt to hide the fact that this was a dangerous thing they were about to do. In fact Sam had grumbled at him for being too short and to the point. Miriana didn't mind; the truth was uncomfortable sometimes, but it was better than lies. She still couldn't justify to herself why she had offered to join the Winchesters. A part of her said it was because she cared about Sam and Dean and wanted to help, but another, niggling little part of her told her it was because, in some twisted way, she hoped she would run into the devil again. She wasn't going to go looking for him, but in some dark way, he fascinated her. He was charming, despite the flashes of violence and the threats he had subtly threaded into their conversation. She had been going over and over everything he had said, but she was no closer to discovering what he wanted her for. She had to admit, subconsciously she was terrified. She hated feeling like she was a pawn in some huge game, without even knowing it. She shut her eyes, trying to block out the insistent anxieties running around her head, but she could see Lucifer's knowing smile, his eyes catching the gleam of the lamplight, glowing like the embers of a dying fire. She can still feel the painful scrape of him inside her head, rifling through her memories like someone might rifle through a magazine, scrutinising the faces of her family, of all her moments with Cas, with Sam and Dean, with Cristian. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her suddenly very cold. She felt hot tears slide out from underneath her squeezed shut eyelids.

She started when she heard the crunch of gravel close by, and her eyes flew open. She relaxed a little when she saw Cas, standing by the edge of the bonnet, looking completely unconcerned by the freezing weather.

"Miriana," he said formally. She hastily tried to wipe her eyes without him noticing, but he caught her movement instantly.

"Why are you crying?" he asked, genuine concern in her voice.

She blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that were clouding her vision, "I'm not."

He leaned against the side of the car, eyes trained on everything but her, "Sam and Dean should be back soon. They have the Colt."

"Oh," she said. Silence fell between them for a few long seconds.

"I tried to call you," she said causally.

"I know," he said shortly.

"I left you a voicemail," she said in small voice.

"I know," he said again.

"Are you not talking to me?" she asked tentatively.

She noticed the set of his shoulders was as hard as iron, "I'm talking now, aren't I?"

She rubbed her forehead and slid off the bonnet of the car, "I can't do this right now."

She set off walking, but she hadn't taken more than two steps when she felt his hand around her wrist, gripping tight. She turned to look at him, noticing the slight spark of anger and the way he held her wrist just a little too tightly.

"You kissed Ethan," he gritted out. Her stomach gave a little flip.

"How...how do you know about that?" she demanded.

"Because I saw you," he said in a strained voice. Frowning, she tugged her wrist and he instantly released his hold.

"What difference does it make to you?" she muttered.

"Do I really have to tell you?" he said in an exasperated voice.

"So he kissed me," she said, in an attempt at nonchalance, "What's your problem?"

"My problem," he growled, taking a step closer, "Is that he has no right."

She laughed bitterly, "No right? I'm not an object, in case you haven't noticed. He doesn't own me, and neither do you. And I can do whatever the hell I like. Stop being possessive."

She made to walk away again but he hooked an arm around her waist and pinned her against the side of the battered truck. She had no escape, trapped in the circle of his arms.

"I can't help it," he said, and he sounded almost apologetic, "I can't help being jealous of any man who so much as lays a finger on you."

"I didn't kiss him," she whispered, "He kissed me. I don't...he doesn't..."

His eyes softened instantly, "I'm not angry. You have every right to do what you want; you're not mine to control."

She wanted to argue that she was his, in every sense of the word, but she couldn't find her voice. She shivered when a strong, icy breeze blew across her skin.

"You're cold," he murmured.

"A little," she said softly.

He pressed his body against hers, lifting his hands to cup her face, his skin warm against her frozen cheeks. He kissed her, a deep probing kiss that made her whole body shake. She gripped his shoulders tightly, nails digging into the fabric of his coat. She whimpered when he pulled away and stood on her tiptoes, pressing her mouth to his in a needy kiss, crushing herself against him, hardly caring how desperate she must seem. His arms went around her waist, his long fingers splayed out against her back. He tasted exactly like she remembered; dark, bittersweet and intoxicating. She didn't feel cold at all anymore.

They both tensed when headlights swept over the jumble of cars, disentangling themselves from one another. The grumble of the Impala's engine fell silent, and a second later they heard Dean's voice, complaining as usual about something Sam had said.

"...yeah well, if sasquatch over here hadn't decided to act like such an idiot," he appeared from behind a teetering pile of car parts, with Sam, Ellen and Jo close behind, "Oh, hey Cas."

His eyes slid over Miriana, who was stood with her arms folded over her chest to hide the shake in her hands and Cas, who was clearly trying to look casual.

Dean smirked, "How's it goin'?"

Miriana rolled her eyes and pushed past a bemused looking Sam, "I need a drink."


	17. If Tomorrow Never Comes

_Hey, hope you all had an amazing christmas. A big thank you to everyone who left a review for the last chapter, thanks for sticking with me and my sporadic updates :) Blame college and universities ;) Hope you all enjoy this chapter and hope you all have a wonderful new year and all your hopes come true. :) :) XXXX_

"I can totally drink Dean under the table," muttered Nate into Miriana's ear an hour or so later.

Miriana rolled her eyes, "Don't be so immature."

They were sat in Bobby's kitchen, Santana playing loudly a battered, dusty CD player in the corner of the room. Jo and Ellen were sat at the table, working their way through Bobby's best bottle of whisky, while Dean and Sam pored over a huge pile of tomes on demonic law. Cas sat awkwardly opposite Ellen, who kept trying, somewhat unsuccessfully, to pull him into a conversation.

Nate took another long swig of his beer, "Jo's gotten really hot."

Miriana rolled her eyes again and eyed his half empty bottle of beer, which had to be at least his fourth or fifth, "I think you need to stop drinking. You're acting like an idiot. Next thing you'll be up on the tables dancing the robot."

"I have never done that," he said in a dignified voice.

Miriana snorted into her glass of southern comfort, "Do you not remember last New Year's Eve? Sam and I practically had to wrestle you off the kitchen worktop."

"Yeah whatever," Nate said grumpily, "I'm going to talk to Jo."

Miriana watched him lope casually across the kitchen and lean nonchalantly against the table next to Jo, who greeted him with a bemused look on his face. Miriana didn't think he honestly stood much of a chance; Jo was interested in one man only. She caught Cas's eye briefly, and she thought he had the slightest smile playing around his lips.

Her aunt came and sat next to her, clutching her glass of wine, looking a little flushed.

"You seem a little quiet honey," she remarked, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Miriana answered.

"Worried about tomorrow?" she asked.

Miriana sighed heavily. She had been trying hard not to think about it, "I guess. A little."

"Going up against the devil," her aunt said in a casual tone, "Risky business."

Miriana gave a derisive snort, "Really, you don't say. I actually thought it would be a piece of cake."

Her aunt softly, but her face soon fell into worried lines, "You don't really think the Colt is going to work do you?"

Miriana swirled the amber liquid around her glass, "No."

"We might die tomorrow," her aunt said in a calm voice, "We don't know what's waiting for us in Carthage."

"Don't say that," Miriana said, putting her glass down on the worktop and turning to face her aunt fully, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Her aunt smiled and laid a warm, slightly lined hand against her cheek, "Always trying to save everyone. Always the defender."

Miriana frowned, "I thought that would be a good thing."

Eve dropped her hand, and leaned back against the counter, "Of course it is."

Miriana frowned, and opened her mouth to ask a question but was interrupted by the return of Nate, who swaggered over with a cocky smile on his face, "She's totally into me."

Her aunt burst into fits of laughter and patted Nate's arm, "Oh you are so deluded sometimes my boy."

Nate looked distinctly disgruntled, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Miriana opened her mouth to make a sarcastic comment but at that moment, Dean sidled up next to her, "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Miriana nodded, putting her glass down on the counter and following Dean into Bobby's shabby living room.

Dean leaned against Bobby's threadbare armchair and gave her a long searching look.

"What?" she asked agitatedly.

"What we've gotta do tomorrow," he began, "You know how dangerous it is right? There's a good chance the Colt won't work."

"And we could be handing Lucifer's vessel right over to him," Miriana finished, "Yes, I have thought about it, Dean. I've thought about it a lot."

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples, "Sam won't stay here, you know. I've tried to talk him into sitting tight here, but he won't have it."

"Do you blame him?" Miriana asked, "Would you sit behind when your brother and your friends are marching off into battle, with a good chance they won't come back?"

Dean raised his eyebrows, "Fair point."

"What do we do if the Colt doesn't work Dean?"

His eyes met hers, and she saw the anxiety in them, the quiet desperation, "I don't know."

She had the sudden, irrational urge to burst into tears, but she took a deep breath and swallowed them back.

She watched the others, her aunt lightly ruffling Nate's hair, who batted her hand away, a grumpy expression on his face.

"Are you sure you wanna let them go with us tomorrow?" Dean asked.

She sighed heavily, "They're both adults, Dean, I don't let them do anything. Even Nate. I've tried to convince them to stay behind, but they won't. You know their stubbornness almost as much as I do."

"Yeah, your aunt can be a frightening woman when she wants to be," Dean said.

"Tell me about it," Miriana muttered darkly.

A heavy silence fell between them again, and Miriana's eyes fell to Cas, who was watching Ellen and Jo's drinking competition with a confused look on his face. The ache of longing lodged back in her chest, as it always did when she looked at him. What would she do if she lost him tomorrow? She couldn't bear the thought; it felt like she was carrying a stomach full of knives.

Something must have shown on her face, because Dean let out a smug little laugh.

"What?" she asked, irritated.

"I can always tell when you're looking at him," Dean said in matter of fact tone, "You get this...droopy look on your face and you start chewing your lip. You always did it when you first met Cristian and were obsessed with him for weeks."

"Is it that obvious?" she questioned, embarrassed. Dean smirked.

"Yeah pretty much," he said, "But then again, he gets this soppy look when he looks at you. The two of you drive me nuts. I mean, you watch him when he's not looking at you, and he watches you when you're not looking at him."

"I do not watch him," Miriana said sniffily.

"Yeah you do," Dean said in that same infuriating, superior tone, "I don't know why you don't just jump his bones. Potential last night on earth and all that sexy stuff. Guaranteed to get you laid, believe me."

"Maybe I don't want to get laid," Miriana said sulkily.

Dean snorted, "Yeah right. You've been practically celibate since Cristian died right?"

"No," Miriana answered in a delicate voice, "I had a one night stand three years ago."

"Oooh rock and roll," Dean muttered sarcastically, "But seriously, I don't get the two of you. You like each other, why not just...do the deed?"

"We're not all whores like you, Dean," Miriana said wryly, "We don't all need sex twenty four seven."

"Speaking of sex," Dean said, his eyes falling hungrily on Jo, who had just stood up from the table and headed for the fridge, "I'll see you later."

Miriana rolled her eyes as Dean strode purposefully past her, leaning nonchalantly against the wall nest to Jo, who had a bemused expression on her face.

She sank into her favourite squashy armchair by the fire, suddenly feeling very tired.

She heard soft footsteps behind her, and turned to see Ellen, who eased herself into the threadbare chair opposite her.

"Hey honey," Ellen said softly, "How's it goin'?"

"Oh you know, not bad," Miriana answered, "Just trying to psych myself up for fighting the devil. No big deal."

Ellen gave a murmur of agreement, "I can't help thinking I should never agree to helping the Winchesters with anything."

Miriana laughed softly, "I was thinking the exact same thing."

Ellen glanced into the kitchen, "That Cas is an interesting character. Never really imagined angels would be so smokin'. And he can't half hold his liquor."

Miriana snorted, "Looking for a toy boy Ellen?"

Ellen faked outrage at Miriana's words, "Hey, I'm not that old. Anyways, he's technically older than me, by about two thousand years."

"I guess."

At that moment, Bobby's gruff voice rang out, "Everybody, get in here. It's time for the lineup."

Miriana and Ellen joined Eve and Nate, who were piling into the back room, where Bobby had set up an old camera on a tripod.

Bobby gestured behind him, "Usual suspects in the corner."

Nate grumbled under his breath and stood next to Eve, who threw her arm around his shoulders and planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.

"Oh come on Bobby," Ellen groaned, "Nobody wants their picture taken."

"Hear, hear," Sam agreed.

"Shut up you're drinking my beer," Bobby growled, fiddling with the buttons on the camera.

Miriana stood on the other side of Nate, who gave her a long suffering glance as Eve ruffled his hair and announced to nobody in particular how adorable she thought he was.

Sam towered over them all at the back, throwing his long heavy arms around Dean's shoulder and then around Cas's, who looked a little awkward.

"Hey shuffle in a little bit," Bobby grumbled to Miriana, "I won't fit you in the picture."

Eve and Nate shuffled over so Miriana was forced to squeeze against Cas, her back pressed against his chest. She could feel his heart thumping steadily and his breath against the back of her neck.

"Anyway, I'm gonna need something to remember your sorry asses by," Bobby, wheeling his chair back in front of Ellen, Jo and Dean, who had looped his arm around Jo's shoulder.

"Ha!" Ellen barked out a laugh, "Always good to have an optimist around."

"Bobby's right," said Cas in a dull tone, "Tomorrow we hunt the devil. This is our last night on earth."

Her aunt glanced at her, anxiety colouring her eyes. Miriana turned her eyes back to the camera and tried to school her features into a happy smile, but it felt more like a grimace and she gave up. She shivered, and she felt Cas's hand slide into hers, gripping it tight as the white light from the camera washed over them.

* * *

The mood was considerably subdued after the photograph, and after twenty more minutes of working their way through Bobby's impressive alcohol supply, everyone aside from Dean and Sam had headed up to bed. Her aunt kissed her goodnight and dragged a yawning Nate up the stairs, even though he sleepily protested her hadn't finished his beer.

Miriana kissed Dean and Sam's forehead before she went up to her attic room. She wanted to say goodnight to Cas, but he was nowhere to be seen. She passed Bobby as she headed for the stairs and bent to give him a kiss on the cheek as he passed, which made him flush furiously and mutter under his breath.

She pushed open the door to her attic room, which Bobby always kept exactly as she wanted it, the faded band posters from her youth still blu-tacked to the wall, her spare make up lined up neatly on the counter under her mirror and her clothes still folded carefully in the chest of drawers in the corner.

She stripped her jeans and shirt off, folded them and laid them on top of the dresser. She slipped on a pair of baggy black sleep pants and a lacy black camisole, scrubbed off her makeup and tugged a brush though her short hair, wincing when it caught on knots.

She felt tired, but oddly restless, and when she tried to sleep, she found she couldn't. She flipped on the bedside lamp and rummaged in the drawer of her bedside cabinet until she found a tattered copy of the Lord of the Rings, which she had read so many times as a teenager many of the pages were falling out in clumps. She picked her favourite chapter and started to read, trying to calm her buzzing mind.

There came a soft knock at the door, and she placed her book down on the cabinet, throwing back the covers. She clambered out of bed and headed towards the door, wincing when her bare feet touched the cool wooden floor. She glanced at the alarm clock; it read eleven thirty. She hadn't realized how long she had been reading. She expected it was her aunt, unable to sleep and wanting to talk.

But when she opened the door, she was met with someone she hadn't expected; Cas, looking tired and downtrodden. She had figured he had left the house to flutter off to somewhere half way around the world.

"Can I come in?" he asked.

"Of course," she said stepping aside to let him in. He walked past her and stood awkwardly in the middle of her room.

She twisted her hands nervously, "What's wrong?"

"We might die tomorrow," he said quietly.

Miriana sighed heavily, "So everyone keeps telling me."

He stepped close to her, so they were only a few inches apart, "The devil is hardly likely to let me walk away from the fight tomorrow. A fallen angel, who's consorting with humans and who has turned his back on heaven is not likely to go down well with Lucifer."

"You don't know that," she said in voice that was barely above a whisper.

He let out small, bitter laugh, "I saw enough of him in heaven to know he isn't the tolerant type, Miriana."

"Right," she muttered.

"Will you do something for me?" he asked, meeting her eyes.

She was befuddled by the stormy colour of his eyes and she answered without thinking, "Anything."

"Stay here tomorrow," he said, "Don't fight."

She shook her head rapidly back and forth, "No way."

"But you just said-" he began, but she cut across him.

"I'm not just going to...to sit here while my family and my friends, while you put your necks on the line. You think I'm going to let Nate go anywhere without me? Or my Aunt?"

"Then make them stay," he pleaded, "Just please, Miriana, don't go."

"No," she snapped, struggling to keep her voice down, "Why should I? I have as much reason to fight as you do. I care about everyone Sam and Dean and Bobby more than you can understand. They're my family Cas, as much as Nate and my Aunt are. I can't stay here and let them fight."

"You have to Miriana," he begged, "You have to."

"Why?" she hissed, "Why should I?"

He cupped her face in his hands, a desperate, hungry look in his dark eyes, "If I lose you, Miriana, it will kill me."

Her heart was thundering away in her chest and she was struggling to breathe, "What makes me think you'll lose me? Am I that wussy a fighter?"

He smiled weakly at this, but his eyes soon regained their intensity. His hands slid down to her arms, gripping them tightly, "I can't bear the thought of it, Miriana. The place will be crawling with hellhounds and demons, and if...if they..."

She pulled her arms free and lifted her hands to his face, brushing her fingers against his cheekbones, "You think it would be any easier for me to lose you?" she asked, "You think it wouldn't kill me too? You think I could just stay here, waiting to see what's happened to you? I-"

He cut off what she was about to say next by crushing his lips against hers fiercely, spreading his hands against her back and pressing her against him. She could taste the caustic edge of desperation in his kiss and feel the shake in his body. She felt her legs hit something solid and the next thing she knew she was sprawled across her bed, his body over hers, her wrists pinned to mattress by the strength of his hands. His lips moved to her neck, grazing his teeth over the spot where her pulse beat wildly, and she shivered all the way down to her toes. She tugged impatiently at his coat, yanking it off and throwing it onto the floor. A second later, she heard the thud as he kicked off his shoes and the soft noise of his suit jacket hitting the floor.

Her fingers scrabbled at the buttons of his white dress shirt, pulling it open and almost tearing them off in the process. His skin was warm and she could feel the movement of his lean muscles beneath it, feeling him tense as she ran her hands over his chest and down to his stomach. Propping herself up on her elbows, she replaced her hands with her lips, tasting the fresh clean taste of his skin, like the air after a heavy rainfall. He moaned low in his throat, a sound she had never heard him make that made the blood in her veins turn to liquid fire. His hands tugged at the hem of her camisole and she obediently sat upright, lifting her arms above her head so he could slide it off. She was suddenly glad she had chosen to wear one of her best pieces of lingerie; crimson silk edged with black lace.

She felt him pause for a second, his eyes roving over the curve of her waist and the planes of her stomach. He dragged his fingers over her throat and down to her heaving chest.

"You're so beautiful," he said, his voice rough with desire, like a scrape of velvet against her skin.

She pulled his lips back to hers, sighing with pleasure when she felt his bare torso press against hers, his lean hips in line with hers. Her nails dug into his shoulders, scratching against his shoulder blades. He peppered kisses across his forehead and her cheeks, catching her earlobe gently between his teeth, at which she couldn't hold back a shaky groan, his stubble scraping deliciously against her skin.

"Will you stay behind?" he whispered into his ear, his hands roving across her waist and stomach, "For me?"

"No," she gasped out, as forcefully could manage, "Sorry."

He stopped nipping her neck and raised himself on his elbows to look at her, "You're infuriating. I thought if I could seduce you, you'd do what I wanted."

Miriana smiled and let out a breathless laugh, "You listen to Dean too much."

He huffed and fell back against the mattress, and she shivered without the addictive heat of his body against hers.

"Is that the only reason you kissed me?" she asked, "To get me to do what you want?"

"No of course not," he said hurriedly.

"Then why?"

He reached out and ran a finger down her bare stomach, "Because I don't want to spend what could be my last night on earth without you."

She sat up and reached for her camisole, but he stopped her, laying his fingers across her back, "Don't. Leave it off."

He sat up next to her and kissed her shoulder, leaning his lips close to her ear, "Can I stay with you tonight?"

She nodded and he pulled the covers off the bed, laying them both back against the mattress. She kicked the covers back over them and rested her head against his shoulder. There wasn't an inch of space between them; they were touching all the way from their heads to their toes. She felt suddenly incredibly drowsy.

It was startlingly intimate, more intimate than their heated kisses, being so close to him. The desire had faded from her body, and all she wanted to do was fall asleep in his arms.

"I'm scared Cas," she whispered.

"I know," he murmured, lifting a hand to brush a strand of dark hair away from her forehead, "So am I."

She fell silent, focusing on the comforting feeling of his heart beat and the warmth of his bare skin.

"You know how much I love you, don't you?" he whispered, "Miriana?"

"Mmmm," Miriana mumbled. He glanced down at her; she was already fast asleep, her breathing deep and even.

He reached behind him and flicked the light off, plunging the room into darkness.


	18. Goin' Down

_Hi, hope your 2011 is great so far. Thanks to everyone who left a review on the last chapter, I'm glad you're sticking with me. :) Enjoy!_

The first pale gold rays of morning were just touching the attic room when Castiel next opened his eyes. He glanced out of the small window, where he could see the copper disc of the sun, just over the roofs of Bobby's garages. Downstairs, he could hear Bobby and Dean talking in low voices. Miriana stirred a little next to him, rolling onto her back. She hadn't slept well in the night, tossing and turning constantly in the cradle of his arms, murmuring fitfully. He often wondered what was going in her head; he didn't have inkling anymore, now that his powers had faded so drastically.

He knew he should leave before he woke up. He had already decided he didn't start the day with her if there good chance he couldn't finish it, but it was difficult to leave. He was well aware this was potentially the last time he could hold her, and though he knew it was macabre to dwell on it, he couldn't help himself. He took a long, lingering look at her, her skin and hair painted gold in the early morning light, her eyelids fluttering as she slept. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek before he slipped the covers off and bent down to pick up his shirt, which was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He dressed quietly, so he wouldn't wake her. Downstairs, he could hear that Sam's voice had joined in Dean and Bobby's conversation, their low voices a distant rumble. He slipped his trench coat on and headed for the door, pausing when he reached it. He should go back and wake her, to use what could be his last chance to tell how much he loved her. But he didn't; he simply slipped through the door, shut it quietly and headed downstairs without a backwards glance. He found Dean, Sam and Bobby in the kitchen, poring over Bobby's battered lore books, a huge map spread out on the table in front of them. Dean was leaning against the counter looking slightly groggy and yawning with a steaming cup of strong black coffee in his hand. He gave Cas a suspicious look when he passed him, and he had the feeling it was due to the fact that his clothes smelt strongly of Miriana's perfume.

"Where did you go last night?" he grumbled, frowning at him over the mug. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Sam had stopped flicking through an enormous leather bound book and was listening in.

He shrugged in what he hoped was a nonchalant way, "Nowhere in particular."

* * *

In an abandoned factory building in the centre of Carthage, Reuben and his faithful group of demons stood before the Devil awaiting their orders, for what felt to the Reuben for the thousandth time. Lucifer was sat in a half broken office chair in front of them, his elbows resting against his knees, hands clasped together and eyes closed, as if he was praying. Behind him, Selene gave a very obvious sigh of frustration, and Rueben stomped on her two thousand dollar Dior boots. This was a big day for the boss, and he seemed the most tightly strung and stressed Reuben had ever seen him. He didn't think today was the best day to irritate him. Meg, stood on Lucifer's right hand side, winked at him, which he simply ignored. He couldn't stand the self obsessed, smug little whore.

He sat up suddenly, making them jump.

"They're coming," he announced to the silent room, "And not just the Winchesters. It seems your delightful lady and her family are with them."

Reuben held back the burst of excitement he felt, "But sir, how can you be sure? I thought you said they were shielded from you."

"They are, when they choose to keep away from me," the devil explained calmly, "But the closer they get, the clearer it becomes."

"They must be very brave of very foolish to come here today," Rueben said, and the demons murmured their agreement behind him.

Lucifer smiled gently, "It's remarkable how often people get the two confused."

He leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him, "You know what you have to do. Organize the demons, and do it quickly. I want death out of hell and under my control as soon as possible."

"Yes sir," Reuben muttered, turning to leave, gesturing that the others should follow him.

"And Reuben," Lucifer called softly, "I expect you to do what I asked first. No...distractions until later."

Reuben caught a glimpse of Meg, a wide catlike smirk across her face. He held back a grimace and nodded, "Of course sir."

* * *

It was raining lightly by the time Miriana reached the outskirts of Carthage. She had followed the Impala and Ellen and Jo's car down seemingly endless stretches of surprisingly empty, dull grey roads with nothing but fields or trees on either side. She looked apprehensively through the windscreen at the deserted landscape whilst her Aunt checked the weapons they had with them, wondering why everything was so deserted. Had the devil killed everything in a three mile radius?

She glanced at the car in front, where she could see Cas's silhouette against the dull light. She had offered him a place in her car, but he had politely declined; she couldn't decide if it was because he felt awkward after what had happened the previous night, or whether it was because Nate was silently shooting him dark glances that firmly suggested he wasn't welcome. Perhaps it was a mix of both.

In a way, she was almost glad. The tension between the two of them had reached a painful escalation, culminating in an embarrassing moment at breakfast when she had accidentally walked into him and ended up pinned awkwardly between the fridge and the back of Jo's chair. She was one hundred percent certain that no one at the table, including Dean, had missed the furious blush in her cheeks. She had waited for the ribbing from Dean, but it never came; although she suspected both Sam and Jo had kicked him under the table when he opened his mouth to make a comment.

Up ahead, she saw Dean's left hand indicator flash on as he turned down a small side road, with a battered sign that announced they had reached the outer limits of Carthage. The road was lined with telephone wires, and as she passed she noticed that taped to every single wooden post was a missing poster, the faded, rain washed faces of the disappeared people smiling out at her, a description of them typed out neatly underneath in thick black lettering. She noticed her Aunt staring at all the faces of those who were likely dead, and she flashed her a weak smile. She didn't return it.

They travelled a little further down the road, the first few houses beginning to appear, a distinct look of emptiness about them. They were no lights or signs of movement in the windows, and the gardens outside already seemed to look a little overgrown, the first hardy weeds pushing up through gaps in the pavement. They turned down another road, which widened out, and around the next corner they reached what Miriana assumed was the centre of town. It was, like the rest of Carthage appeared to be, completely deserted. The road beneath them was slick and shiny with rain, water gushing down into the grates as it began to rain harder. They passed a large cafe that had an open sign taped to the door, but there was no sign of anyone inside; the tables were all empty, and the lights were off. She saw Sam and Dean stick their arms out the Impala windows, their mobiles held aloft, obviously trying to work out if they could get a signal. Miriana pulled her iphone out of her pocket and briefly checked the screen, as did Eve and Nate. There was no signal. What a shocker. Things definitely had a horror movie, oh my god we can't get help and we're going to die here feeling about it.

"Any signal?" her aunt asked, although she didn't sound optimistic.

Miriana snorted, "What do you think?"

Her aunt sighed heavily, "No me neither. Anyway, I don't suppose it would do much good. What would we say if we rung the police; excuse me officer, but I need a hand, because I'm being threatened by the devil? I think we'd be more likely to be thrown in strait jackets and carried off to the nuthouse."

Ahead of them, the Impala slowed down, pulling up against the curb, indicating that Ellen and Miriana should do the same thing. As she pulled up against the curb, she saw yet more missing signs posted to the cork display board; that had to be half the town missing now, surely. She switched off the Mercedes's engine, and it shut down with a quiet purr. Ellen pulled up level with Dean in front of her, and she saw Dean lean across and talk to Jo through the open window. After a few brief seconds, Dean drove off and Ellen parked in front of Miriana and climbed out of the battered maroon truck.

"Where are Sam and Dean going?" Miriana asked as Nate scrambled out of the car behind her, clutching a shotgun and looking incredibly pale.

"The police department," Ellen answered, casting a suspicious look around the deserted buildings, "This place is way too empty for my liking."

Ellen turned to look at Cas, whose eyes were flicking back and forth a confused look on his face.

"This town isn't empty," he stated, to much confusion.

"What the hell is he jabbering about?" Nate grumbled in her ear, but she batted him away impatiently.

"Reapers," Cas said, answering Miriana's unasked question.

Ellen frowned, "Reapers? As in more than one?"

Miriana glanced around her at the empty buildings and deserted stretch of road. She shivered, wondering if there was a reaper stood close to her.

"They only gather like this at times of great catastrophe," Cas explained, eyes still flicking uneasily back and forth, "Chicago fire, San Francisco quake, Pompeii. Excuse me; I need to find out why they're here."

He set off walking without a backwards glance, heading towards a block of flats across the road. Miriana felt as if she should follow him, but she didn't think there was much point. How could she help him with something she couldn't see?

"The dude's such a weirdo," she heard Nate mutter petulantly, and then heard the crack as Eve slapped him around the back of the head.

"Maybe we should go and check the other side of town," Miriana suggested, "We'll meet you back here later."

Ellen nodded, "Sure thing."

Her aunt and Nate followed her as she walked down the litter strewn pavement, their shotguns held against their chests, ready to send a round full of rock salt into anything that looked remotely demonic. The rain had almost stopped now, reduced to a fine grey drizzle that cloaked everything in a light mist. She was freezing, her hands stiff, and she briefly wondered if the presence of the reapers was making the temperature fall so low.

They rounded the corner of a large hardware store to be greeted with yet another deserted street, the only sign of movement was the swirling eddies of rubbish.

"There's no sign of a fight, no sign of a struggle," her aunt said, casting her eyes around the buildings on either side, "What happened to all these people? Where did they all go?"

Miriana frowned as she passed another board covered with black and white missing posters, one of which showing a girl who couldn't be older than fourteen.

She shivered, "I'm not sure I want to know."

They carried on a little further down the street, wrapped in a tense silence, their footsteps and the whispering of the wind the only sounds.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Nate asked after a few more minutes of traipsing down the street.

"To be honest, I'm not exactly sure," Miriana replied.

"I think we should..." he aunt began, but stopped dead suddenly, staring straight ahead with wide eyes.

"What?" Miriana asked. Her aunt merely nodded her head in front of her.

Miriana turned to see a dark haired woman stood in the middle of the street, a wide gleaming Hollywood smile plastered across her pale face. Two nondescript looking men dressed in jeans and thick jackets flanked her, their faces impassive. Miriana realized with a sudden sickening jolt that she recognized her. It was the demon she had seen so often with Reuben, Selene. She had a smug, self satisfied look on her face that suggested she knew a lot more than they did.

"Miriana honey," she called, "So nice to see you here."

Miriana said nothing, merely gripped the barrel of the shotgun a little tighter.

"Not talkative today?" she said in a mocking voice, "Pity. Perhaps this will make you a little more vocal."

She gestured to the demons on either side of her and they stepped back, as if they were revealing something, but Miriana could see nothing but fresh air. Then she heard her aunt give a little gasp, and she followed her eyes to pavement. Deep scratch marks were gouging into the tarmac of the road, and the puddles of water shivered as something enormous readjusted its weight. When she listened closely, she could hear faint, rumbling growls.

She swore colourfully under her breath. Hellhounds.

Selene reached out and patted thin air, at around the height of her waist. Miriana swore again. Big hellhounds.

Both sides simply stood there, facing each other across the street, Selene still wearing that irritating smirk. She was waiting for them to make a move. Miriana twitched the shotgun a little, enough so that Nate and her Aunt would notice. Thankfully, they caught the movement, and they both gave her a brief nod.

At the same time, the three of them raised their shotguns and unloaded a round of rock salt at the area between the demons. Miriana had no real idea where they were, or how many there were, but she must have been lucky, as she heard a squeal and splatters of black blood flew against Selene's slick boots and expensive looking jeans. The air was suddenly full of the sounds of deep, scratchy barking, and the thunderous noise of huge paws thumping across the tarmac towards them. Nate raised his shotgun to fire again, but Miriana grabbed his shoulder and dragged him along with her as she followed her Aunt, who had made a dash for the nearest building, a slightly grotty looking burger bar. She could feel the hellhounds close behind her, feel the ground shaking as their huge weight raced across it. Selene was laughing, a high pitched, sickly sound that was almost drowned out by the noise of the hounds snapping and growling.

Her aunt reached the door and threw her full weight against it. It swung open, and the three of them piled into the slightly musty half darkness, slamming the door shut just as the Hellhounds reached them. Miriana and Nate leaned all their weight and strength against the door, fighting to keep it closed as the hounds threw themselves against the glass so the doorframe shuddered. There was a loud thud right next to Miriana's head as a pair of massive, invisible paws slammed against the glass, followed by the squeal of claws.

"Hurry up!" Miriana yelled at Eve, who was rifling through the drawers behind the counter, looking for salt. Nate dug in his feet, but that didn't stop him sliding back a few inches across the tiles and the door shuddered once more. A gap appeared in the door, and Miriana had a sudden image of a long, scarred muzzle full of yellowing fangs pushing its way through.

Finally her aunt reappeared next to her, a container of table salt in her hands. Hands shaking, her aunt spread a thick line of salt along the door and the banging against it finally stopped. The hounds growled, as if they realized they had been beaten. There was the sound of paws thundering away from them, the barks of the hounds fading, then silence.

Miriana staggered over to the nearest chair and threw herself into it, gasping for breath, adrenalin making her body tremble. It was a mistake to have come here. How could they have been so unprepared? She should have expected Lucifer would have his entourage of demons, and she should have expected they would bring their guard dogs. Her aunt and Nate sank into chairs opposite her, Nate looking pale and slightly green, as if he was about to be sick.

"If I make it out of this, and I see Sam and Dean again, I'm going to kill them," Miriana muttered darkly.

"Agreed," her aunt gasped, still clearly out of breath, "Now we just have to find a way to get out of here."

"I'm afraid there isn't one," came a horribly familiar voice from the shadows in the back of the diner.

All three of them jumped to their feet and whirled around, clutching their shotguns. Reuben stepped out from behind the door that led to the kitchens, a pleased look on his face, like a lion that had successfully cornered its prey. He clapped his leather clad hands together in an excited sort of way.

"I think we're going to have some fun, don't you?"

* * *

The reapers were everywhere; all stood facing the same direction. Not one of them responded to the angel walking in their midst. It seemed as if nothing could break their focus. He wandered between them, not entirely sure what it was he was looking for.

At that moment, he caught a flicker of movement at one of the windows of the apartment block. He glanced upwards to see a reaper at the window, an old withered looking man with completely white eyes, as if he was blind. Upon seeing him, he turned away, melting into the shadows behind him. Sensing he might lead him somewhere important, he followed him, fluttering up to the second floor hallway. He saw the reaper vanish into the thick shadows through a door at the end of the dull hall. He approached the door carefully, half expecting something to come lunging out at him. The second he stepped through the doorway, he knew he'd made a huge mistake.

"Hello brother," said a calm, cultured voice. He felt a burst of white hot light and heat, and for a second, he couldn't make sense of where he was or what was happening.


	19. Crossfire

_Hi, hope you all enjoy this chapter I'm sorry if there's mistakes or its a little rushed but I'm still in the grip of exam season and I have two major major science exams coming up :/ Good luck to all the other A level people who have the horror of exams atm. Anyway, a big thank you and lots of hugs to everyone who left a review on the last chapter, I'm really glad you're still sticking with me :) :) _

After a few brief seconds, the light faded, leaving him in half darkness. The intense heat faded a little, but it didn't leave completely. Confused, he glanced around him, and when he saw what he was stood in, he used one of Dean's choicest swearwords. All around him, tall flames snapped and crackled, trapping him in a perfect, fiery circle. He could smell the faint tang of holy oil.

He was in a dark, derelict room he didn't recognize, and he expected he was halfway across Carthage, transported away from the hunters. He turned, and saw someone watching him from the shadows in the corner of the room, one side of his face lit with the flickering copper light of the fire.

"Lucifer."

His lips quirked upwards for a brief second, then he began pacing slowly back and forth, his hand clasped behind his back, a contemplative expression on his face. His hear started to beat very fast in his chest, and his hands were slick with perspiration that had nothing to do with the heat of the fire.

"So I take it you're here with the Winchesters," he said in a conversational tone.

He couldn't alert Lucifer to the fact that the brothers were in town; he didn't like the thought of what he might do, to Dean, Ellen and Jo at least; he knew Sam was far too precious for him to harm. He remembered with a sudden jolt that Miriana and her family were in Carthage too, and decided it was an even better idea to lie.

"I came alone," he said, as calmly as he could manage.

He knew instantly from his expression that Lucifer already knew the Winchesters were here, right under his nose. He no doubt knew exactly where Miriana was at that second, too.

"Loyalty," he said softly, "Hmm. Such a nice quality to see this day and age."

He wasn't entirely sure what to make of this compliment, so he said nothing. The less he said, the less Lucifer was likely to discover. Unless he decided to force it from him.

Lucifer's brows knitted together, as if he was trying to figure something out, "Castiel, right?"

He gave a small nod in response.

"Castiel...I'm told you came here in an automobile," he said pacing around the flaming circle, steepling his long fingers together.

Confused at the sudden random turn in conversation, he frowned, "Yes."

"What was that like?" he asked, genuine interest in his voice, as if he had always wondered what it might be like to ride in a car.

"Um..." he began, searching his brain for the best description, "Slow. Confining."

It was the truth; it was so much easier to fly.

Lucifer regarded him with the air of a scientist dissecting a particularly interesting specimen, "What a peculiar thing you are."

He returned Lucifer's long searching glance, and noticed that patches of his vessel's skin were beginning to flake away to reveal ugly, shiny red skin underneath. It seemed Nick was burning from the inside out; no wonder Lucifer was so eager to take Sam. It had to be uncomfortable to be trapped in a vessel that slowly crumbled away with each passing second.

"What's wrong with your vessel?" he asked.

He raised his eyebrows, and the skin over his forehead stretched unpleasantly, revealing more burnt looking skin underneath, "Yes, Nick is wearing a bit thin, I'm afraid."

He said it as if it was a minor niggle, a little irritation; then again, he always had been arrogant.

"He can't contain me forever so..."

"You-"seized by a sudden burst of anger as hot as the flames around him, he stepped forwards, but he felt the white hot brush of the flames against the skin of his hand, and he winced. He stopped as close to the flames as he could get, and Lucifer flashed a brief, amused little grin.

"You are not taking Sam Winchester," he said firmly, "I won't let you."

The small amused smile remained on Lucifer's face, and he raised his eyebrows, "I don't understand why you're fighting me, of all the angels."

"You really have to ask?"

"I rebelled, I was cast out, you rebelled you were cast out," he said matter of factly, once again pacing around the flaming circle, "Almost all of heaven wants to see me dead and if they succeed, guess what? You're their new public enemy number one."

He said nothing, unsettled by his argument. He had a point; he was as bad as Lucifer in heaven's eyes.

"We're on the same side like it or not," he continued, "So why not just serve your own best interests, which, in this case, just happen to be mine."

It was tempting, he had to admit. Lucifer had always had a way with words. But then he thought of Miriana, and the world she would be forced to live in if Lucifer rose to power, if she survived that long.

"I'll die first."

Lucifer's face fell for the slightest of seconds, but he soon regained his cool composure, "I suppose you will."

He paused for a long second, as if choosing his words carefully, "And what would your delightful girl think of that? Surely she would be heartbroken?"

"Who?" he asked, although he knew from his smug expression already knew about Miriana.

"Don't play dumb, little brother," he said, his tone just a few degrees cooler than before, "You think my demons don't tell me who's part of the Winchesters little entourage?"

"She isn't _my _girl," he said coldly, "I don't own her. And I'm sure she would be fine without me."

"That's not what I saw in her head" Lucifer said, then made a tutting sound, "All those heated little kisses. I didn't think you made a habit of...consorting with every human woman you came across."

He didn't say anything, and Lucifer gave a little chuckle, "Nothing to say, Castiel? I'm not judging you, don't worry. I'm not like the other angels; I get how...enticing they can be."

He leaned against the cracked brick wall and regarded him with a knowing look on his face, "I can see why you did what you did. Miriana is quite special."

Something cold settled in the pit of his stomach, "How would you know anything about her?"

He looked up from his casual inspection of his nails, "I've met her."

He tried to keep the shock of his face, but he didn't think he managed it very well. The cold feeling in his stomach hardened and seemed to lodge somewhere in his chest, "When?"

"In Manhattan," he said casually, "Reuben was just about to turn her into his little torture toy when I stopped him. You should be thanking me. If I hadn't stepped in you'd be burying her remains in a box. He really does have a nasty sadistic streak. And people wonder I hate demons so much."

"Why?" he asked, "Why let her go?"

Lucifer smirked ever so slightly, "Why? Do you wish I hadn't?"

"Of course not," he growled.

"Then why so fussed?" he asked, spreading his arms wide, "She's alive, isn't she? Back in your arms and in your bed I'd imagine too."

He ignored the comment and continued as if he hadn't heard it, "You never let anyone live unless you want them for something. What do you want from her?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes in a petulant sort of way, "Everyone is always judging me, always thinks I'm out for myself."

"You are," he bit back.

"I like her," Lucifer said in an almost exasperated voice, "She's quite unlike anything I've seen before. You should be happy. I hear it is hard to get the approval of your lover's family. She would know that; I know Zachariah sent his angels to batter her half to death when they learned about you two. That's what you call familial disapproval."

He stepped as close to the flames as he could without burning himself, "I don't believe you. What do you want with her?"

"Persistent aren't you?" he remarked, "All right, I'll admit I have my plans for her. And for you."

Dread flooded his system, "What plans?"

Lucifer raised a sceptical eyebrow, "Do you really think I'm going to tell you?"

"Whatever it is, whatever you want, please don't hurt her," he pleaded, "You can do whatever you want to me, just...please leave her."

Lucifer shook his head, "They say love makes you stronger but...I don't see it. You used to be a soldier, but here you are begging for her."

He leaned back against the wall once more and continued to regard him with that same contemplative look on his face. He couldn't get out from underneath his gaze, and he felt like he was suffocating with the heat of the flames around him. He knew somewhere in his head, Lucifer was mulling over all his plans, his schemes for him and Miriana, for Dean and anyone else foolish enough to try and cross him. Whatever he wanted from the two of them, he'd get it. He always got what he wanted. Only Michael had been strong enough to stop him, and since Dean was resolutely refusing to say yes to Michael, it didn't look like anyone would be around to reign in Lucifer's determination to get what he wanted. He couldn't believe Miriana hadn't told him about her run in with Lucifer; no wonder she had been so shaken back in New York. Didn't she trust him enough to tell him? It frightened him, the thought of Lucifer alone with her, what he'd said, what he'd done. Maybe he'd already put his plans for her in motion, without either of them noticing.

The tense, brittle silence was broken by the sound of footsteps, and the both of them turned to see Meg saunter into the room, a huge self satisfied grin stretched across her face. Her unfortunate host was pretty, but the twisted face underneath was one of the most hideous he had ever seen. She flashed a grin in his direction than turned to Lucifer, looking incredibly pleased with herself. It was almost sad, how desperate she was to please Lucifer, when he knew as soon as she'd served her purpose he'd rip her from her host and cast back to the deepest, darkest part of hell.

"I got the Winchesters pinned down, for now at least," she said, that same sickening grin still on her lips, "What should I do with them?"

Lucifer tapped a long finger against his chin, "Leave them alone."

Meg's grin dropped to be replaced be an incredulous look, "I-I'm sorry but are you sure? Shouldn't we-?"

Lucifer cupped Meg's face in his hands with some sort of fatherly affection, and Castiel wondered how he could, when he was what he was, and could see the real face underneath, "Trust me child. Everything happens for a reason."

While he was preoccupied, he cast his eyes around the room, looking for any means of escape. If Lucifer would just leave him alone for a few minutes, he could break the pipes on the ceiling and break the ring of fire he was trapped in.

"Well Castiel," Lucifer said, stepping back from Meg, who was watching him with a look of reverence on her face, "You have some time."

He gave him a long searching look, "Time to change your mind?"

His answer was to glare at him, hoping to convey all the disgust he felt. Lucifer shrugged, "Suit yourself. Keep your eye on him, Meg."

He swept from the room, leaving him alone with Meg, who was watching him with a unpleasantly hungry look on her face. He had the distinct feeling this was going to be a really long day.

* * *

Reuben made no move from the shadows; he simply stood and watched Miriana. She could see exactly what he wanted to do to her in the clear green eyes of his host. Her aunt moved to stand in front of her, her arms spread wide as if to protect her.

"What do you want?" she called. Nate made a move forwards but Miriana yanked him back with a hand of his jacket.

"Eve," Reuben said in a tone of mild surprise, "It's been a while. How are you?"

"I'd be better if you left my niece alone," she spat, "You killed Cristian, her parents, why can't you just leave her be."

"You obviously don't know me at all," he said, leaning casually against the wall, "I'm a perfectionist. I like to finish what I started properly. Miriana and her little beau got me all flustered when they murdered my coven of demons. I got him but she," he jabbed a finger towards her, "slipped away from me. I don't like it when things don't go my way."

Eve laughed, a harsh bitter sound, "You're just a spoilt little child aren't you? You're pathetic; you only managed to kill my brother and his wife because you got lucky and they turned their backs for a second. You're just another piece of shit they would have crushed under their feet."

Miriana exchanged a surprised glance with Nate; she had never heard her Aunt speak such venom.

The perfect Hollywood smile dropped from his face, "All I can hear is your yapping, when I really want to hear this."

He curled his fingers towards his palm, and Eve clutched at her throat and dropped to her knees, choking and retching. Miriana dropped down alongside her, watching in horror as her Aunt coughed up a great clot of blood, clutching her stomach. Nate hurled himself at Reuben, who flicked him aside with a lazy gesture; he flew against the wall and smashed against a table, cracking it in two and showering the floor in splinters.

"Stop it!" she screamed, "Please, just stop it!"

He uncurled his fist and Eve's hands dropped from her throat. She slumped back against a chair, trembling and scrubbing the blood away from her mouth.

Reuben brushed some invisible dirt away from the front of his immaculate shirt and jacket, "You know Miriana, I'm not that fussed about your family. Your aunt's got a gob on her sure, and he's an irritating little douche bag," he gestured at Nate, who was lying in a pile of crushed splinters and glass, clutching his stomach, "But I'll let them go. Just come with me for a little bit of fun, and I'll let them go."

He held out his hand like a chivalrous prince, and even she heard both Nate and Eve's gasped protests, she seriously considered it. She could end it, like she hadn't been able to when Cristian died. She deserved it; it had been her fault Cristian had died drowning in his own blood in the first place.

He sensed her indecision and he wore the expression of a cat that had just got the cream, "Come on, sweetheart. They can live; I'll leave them alone, I promise. It won't even hurt. Much. Hell, you might even enjoy what I'm going to do to you."

His face darkened when she didn't answer, "Come on Miriana. Angel boy isn't here to save you now. You don't have much of a choice."

"Don't," Nate choked, "Don't be thick Miriana, don't even think about it."

"Shut it you," Reuben snapped, twisting his fingers. Nate let out a cry of pain that effectively cut off any conversation.

Miriana winced when a deafening bang rent through the air, and felt a bullet disturb the air against her cheek as it whizzed past. The rock salt round smashed into Reuben's shoulder, leaving a smoking hole in the fabric of his tailored jacket. He swore loudly and turned a furious glare on Eve, who was still clutching the slightly smoking shotgun.

"I like this jacket," he gritted out, "Big mistake."

He swept forwards and fisted a hand in Eve's long, silver streaked hair, yanking her to her feet hard.

"Enough fucking playing," he growled, "I always get what I want Miriana. Give yourself up, or I'll tear her open."

Eve shook her head back and forth desperately, her eyes wide, tears glistening on her cheeks, "Don't. Don't sweetheart."

Reuben gave another savage yank, and Eve let out a choked cry of pain, "Well?"

"I...I..." she stuttered.

"You're taking too long," he said in bored voice, and plunged his hand straight through Eve's ribcage, right into her chest.

"NO!" Miriana screamed; she launched herself at him but he caught her at arm's length and threw her aside with barely an ounce of effort. Her back slammed into the wall, driving all the air from her lungs and she struggled to break free, but what felt like an invisible bar was pinning her to the wall.

Reuben dropped her aunt and she fell like a rag doll, limp and boneless, crimson blood seeping across the floor. He wiped his hand clean with a silk handkerchief, then discarded it just like her aunt's body. Reuben stepped over it with a disgusted expression, treading carefully so he wouldn't stain his glossy leather boots with blood. He crunched across the pile of splinters and grasped a handful of Nate's jacket and wrenched him to his feet.

"Your baby cousin's next," he snarled, "Are you going to watch someone else die, Miriana?"

She let out a little sob and shook her head. It was like watching Cristian die all over again, and she couldn't do it. She couldn't live with anymore guilt, like a knife in her stomach, constantly twisting deeper and deeper.

"Fine!" yelled, tears coursing down her cheeks, "Do what you want?"

A satisfied, Cheshire cat grin broke out on his face, and he shoved Nate to one side and stepped towards her. She squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to see the sick pleasure on his face when he finally got his hands on her. She was screaming inside her head, the images of her Aunt's blood and insides across the floor burned against her retinas, the desperate gasps of her last, dying breaths loud in her ears.

"I wouldn't do that," said a calm, oddly familiar female voice. Miriana opened her eyes to see a slender figure stood in front of her, one she instantly recognized; Embriel. Her long caramel coloured hair had been swept into an elegant plait, and although she looked tired, deep purple shadows under her eyes, the look of pure fury on her face made her terrifying to behold.

"Fucking angels!" Rueben roared, "You're always getting in the fucking way!"

Embriel stepped forwards, her jaw set in a hard line, "Leave."

He raised a trembling finger to point at Miriana, "I'll have you."

Embriel raised her hand towards Reuben's forehead; with a look of panic he threw back his head and a huge thick stream of smoke poured from his mouth and spiralled out of the nearest window. His host slumped to the floor and lay still, spread eagled across the pool of blood on the tiles. The force that had been restraining her disappeared, like an elastic band had snapped. She flung herself towards her aunt, not caring that she was soaking the knees of her jeans in blood. Struggling to breathe around the flood of tears she tugged off her shirt and held it over the gaping wounds in her Aunt's chest, though she knew it was hopeless. Blood soaked her hands, getting stuck under her nails and sinking into the creases in her palms.

Her Aunt gave a choking wheezing breath, and Miriana realized with a jolt of horror that she was still alive. She couldn't imagine the pain she was in, with her chest rent open and her life pouring away in crimson tides across the floor.

"I'm sorry," Miriana sobbed, still desperately compressing her shirt over the torn flesh, trying to keep what little blood she still had in her body, "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."

Eve gave a weak smile, as much as she could manage, although blood poured from between her lips when she did, "It's alright. S'alright."

She coughed weakly, and blood bubbled across her lips. Miriana looked up at Embriel, who was watching, her hazel eyes wide and very sad.

"Help her!" she cried, "Please help!"

The angel shook her head, "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Miriana shrieked, "You're an angel for God's sake."

Embriel laid a long fingered hand against Miriana's hair, "I'm sorry, child."

Eve's eyes were glassy and unfocused, and Miriana knew it was too late. She was beyond all help now; she was gone where Miriana couldn't follow her. She pulled her Aunt's bloody body against her, not caring that her clothes were damp with blood. Nate was leaning against the wall, an empty horrified look on his face.

She threw her head back and screamed, a raw sound of pure agony that scraped like a knife as it rent its way from her throat. Her heart seemed to be struggling to beat, and she wondered if the pain in her chest was because it was breaking cleanly in two. She felt Embriel's warm arm around her shoulders, but it offered her no comfort, nor did her softly spoken words. She just screamed and screamed and screamed for the sheer unfairness of it all, praying that if there was anyone up there, he heard her loud and clear.


	20. Where is my mind

_Okay, so I know its been a ridiculously long time, and if you haven't stuck with me I don't blame you. It's not really an excuse but I have had the most horrendous first year at university, so bad I've actually come home and transferred to a different uni. I've barely done anything all year except stress about my stupid choice and spend time begging to UCAS and various different lecturers to let me transfer. But anyway, it's over and done with now, so I'm much happier. I'm off on holiday to Florida again next Sunday, but I might be able to get another chapter out. If you're still with me you deserve cookies and a big hug. This story hasn't got that much longer to go, and neither has Hell and Consequences, but hopefully they should be done at some point. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint. As you've probably guessed I'm a bit rusty. :/_

Weeks passed. Maybe months. The funeral passed, and while Nate got back on his feet and pulled himself together, Miriana sank deeper and deeper into depression. Dean came to the house and hammered on the door for an hour, but she ignored him when Nate eventually caved and let him in. In the end she was sick of a steady stream of people coming to check on her, including Castiel and Embriel, who kept turning up in the middle of the night when she was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, sick of Nate pushing food under her nose, sick of being watched like they were all frightened she was going to off herself at the next available chance. On a blustery Sunday, when Nate had left the house for shopping, she threw as many of her clothes as she could into a suitcase and took off, driving god only knew where. She eventually ended up in a cheap, tacky motel just outside of Austin. Normally she would have turned her nose up at the ratty mattress and the grubby carpet, but she simply stumbled in and collapsed on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. After an hour of studying the stained paintwork, she dragged herself to the nearest store and bought two of the largest bottles of Jack Daniels she could find, ignoring the disgusted looks the clerk gave her. She knew she must look like hell; her hair lank and unwashed, skin drained and sallow, nails bitten to stubs and clothes creased. Nate had removed all the alcohol from the house, which had irritated her beyond belief. She didn't need to be babysat, but everyone insisted on it. She was grieving, not suicidal.

When she traipsed back into her room, her phone was buzzing on the desk. She ignored it. The last time she'd checked, she'd had fifteen missed calls from Dean, ten from Sam and eleven from Ethan, along with increasingly more frantic, and on Dean's part, more annoyed voicemails. She deleted them all.

She unscrewed the lid of the Jack Daniels and took a long swig, enough to make her throat burn and her head swim. She kept drinking until the world was pleasantly fuzzed around the edges. She was sincerely tempted to ring Dean just to shout abuse at him, but she couldn't be bothered to get off the bed and get her phone. That was probably just as well.

She was angry at both Sam and Dean. They had both been so caught up in the death of Jo and Ellen and the stupid devil that neither of them had paid her much attention until they realised that the death of her aunt might have hurt her more than they could have ever understood. She was riddled with guilt so sharp it left her feeling like she was swallowing razor blades. She had led her aunt into that trap. Her own arrogance, her conviction that she was invincible, that she could be a hero had caused her death. Every time she shut her eyes, she could see her shattered ribs, white spears through the red of torn lungs and punctured insides. Her stomach heaved and she dashed to the sink just in time, retching up bile and liquor.

"This isn't healthy," said a gravelly voice behind her.

She rolled her eyes and wiped her mouth. She turned around and the motion made her head spin so badly she had to slump down against the wall.

"Oh wadda you care?" she slurred. Her head was throbbing like a bass drum.

"I care," Castiel said solemnly, "A lot of people care."

"Yeah?" she struggled to her feet, needing the support of the counter to get her there, "Where are they all? Hmm? Where's Bobby? Sam? Dean? They're too busy mourning over precious little martyr Jo and her selfless sacrifice? What about _my_ sacrifice? What about the things _I've _lost? No one remembers that?"

He opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

"Why have I stuck by the Winchesters all these years? What has it got me? Nothing. Nothing good anyway."

She stumbled over to the bed, tripping over her own feet, and he instantly flew to her side to her support her.

"Get OFF!" she yelled, shoving him as hard as she could. She threw herself onto the bed and laid there, face pressed into the pillow. It smelt like dust and cheap washing powder. Against the blackness of her eyelids, bright lights rolled and roiled. Her pulse thrummed and throbbed. Her eyes burned with unshed tears that just wouldn't pour forth. She could sense him hovering behind her, unsure.

"Go away," she choked out, her voice muffled by the pillow, "Just leave me alone, I don't want you here."

She sensed rather than heard the flutter of wings behind her. For once, someone was actually listening to her.

The lights flashing in her eyes had ceased, but her head continued to ache, though duller than before. The couple in the room next door began to argue loudly, the harsh sound loud through the thin walls. Somewhere outside, a dog was barking, and there was drunken laughter from the parking lot. She was surrounded by people, but she'd never felt more alone in her life.

She wasn't sure if she slept or not. She constantly felt like she was in a waking nightmare. She kept hoping she might wake up and find everything how it was before Carthage. Even better, she might wake up and find herself in someone else's life. No demons, no angels, no Winchesters.

She rolled over restlessly, suddenly feeling suffocated by the scratchy covers. She stared at the orange bars of light on the ceiling from the streetlamp outside. The couple next door had stopped arguing, but were instead having loud, aggressive sounding make up sex. She wasn't sure which was worse to listen to.

A flicker of movement in the corner of the shadowed room caught her eye. She froze, hoping it was just a trick of her whisky addled brain.

"I'm not a hallucination, if that what's you're hoping," said a silky voice from the corner.

She sat bolt upright, her hand going immediately to the pistol on the bedside table. She aimed it at the shadows, the source of the noise, which shifted and let out an amused chuckle.

"That won't help," said the devil.

He stepped forwards into the orange light filtering through the threadbare curtains. The flat orange glare threw the flayed skin on his hosts face into sharp, ghastly relief. The hollows beneath his cheekbones were deep ravines. He smiled at her, showing a row of white teeth. She was suddenly aware of her heart, thrumming like a hummingbird's wing in her breast and the rush of blood through her veins. The hand holding her gun trembled, though she tried hard to hold it steady. She was completely, sharply sober now.

"What do you want?" she asked. She hated the quiver in her voice, "Why are you here?"

"Well, I'm not _really _here. You're dreaming, my dear. I can't find you unless you find me first. But anyway...I felt I should come and offer my condolences," he said calmly, "For your Aunt. Her death was a tragedy."

She let out a bitter laugh, all fear momentarily forgotten, "Like you care. You'd have killed her yourself if you had the chance."

A strange expression flitted across his face. If she didn't know better, she'd have said it was hurt.

"Why must you always misjudge me? I'm not like that little sadist Rueben. I'm not determined to hurt you."

"Why?" she asked, "You want to hurt everyone else."

"I want to set everyone else free from their sad little lives," he said, taking a step closer, "My father created them, set all else aside for them, then abandoned them. I'm just trying to help them."

She snorted, "You're so full of bullshit."

"Put the gun down, why don't you Miriana?" he said, his voice a notch cooler, "We can't have a civil conversation with that thing pointing at me."

"What's the problem? It can't hurt you."

"No, but it puts me off somewhat."

She dropped it to the bedside table with a thunk. She drew her knees up to her chest and watched him warily from under her eyelashes.

"You don't look so good, Miriana," he said conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather.

"I don't feel so good," she shot back.

He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, as if he was approaching a spooked horse.

"How much have you sacrificed for this life of yours, Miriana? The chance to go to college, get a career, get married, have a kid. To live without waiting for an attack, or to lose someone you loved."

"I had no choice," she said in a strained voice, "I was forced into this life."

"You didn't have a choice then," he murmured, leaning closer, "But you can have a choice now."

She watched him through wide eyes, half hypnotised into stillness. He suddenly didn't look so ghastly anymore. There was a strange kind of muted fire in the green eyes of his host.

"How much have you done for the Winchesters and their cause? How much have you lost?"

She was frozen, her muscles locked in place. How had he gotten inside her head so easily? Repeating things she'd said herself only a few hours ago. She felt like she couldn't breathe. It was the most alive she'd felt in weeks.

He reached out carefully and traced her cheek with a single finger, lightly, barely touching.

"I can see the tears you've cried," he said softly, "They're tattooed on your face. All your grief and rage is branded over your heart. I can help all that."

"How?" she breathed. His fingers left a burning trail on her skin.

"Just come and find me," he pressed a piece of paper into her hand, "I can give you the world. And I'll save a place in it for Nate, and Castiel as well. I need a good soldier on my side."

She said nothing. Her stomach was twisting with nausea, but there was a strange thrill fizzing through her nerves like electricity.

"Wouldn't you like to see Eve again? Your mother and father?"

"I..." she began, but her voice died in her throat. He leaned towards her swiftly, and she shut her eyes, her breath falling out in a gasp. Half of her was screaming, recoiling from him, and the other half of her wanted to reach out for him, a sick urge that left her confused and ill.

A loud sound broke her out of her sleep like someone had grabbed her collar and dragged her out by the scruff of her neck. She was lying on her back, breathing like she had run a marathon, both hands twisted in the material of her pillowcase. Her cheek was burning like acid had split across it. She felt irrationally like she was on the verge of tears.

The sound came again. It took her addled brain a long second to realise what it was. Someone was knocking at the door.

She rolled out of the bed, landing on her feet unsteadily, and tottered towards the door. She ran her fingers through her hair and smoothed her crumpled plaid shirt down in an attempt to look presentable. She took a deep breath and tried to compose herself.

When she opened the door, she felt certain she had finally cracked and gone crazy.

"Hey babe," Cristian said, smiling widely. His dimpled cheeks and his prefect teeth were just as she remembered. If this was another hallucination, it was a wonderfully crafted one.

"It's been a while," he said, as if they'd only been on holiday in different countries, "You're still hot as fuck. Even in pyjama pants."

She did the only thing that made sense. She fainted.


	21. Don't let me be lonely

_A very long overdue chapter, and you may have thought I was hit by a bus but in fact I haven't, I'm just an awful person :( Uni has been incredibly busy and I've been sidetracked with my part time job and getting into a ton of new TV shows. Anyone watching Hannibal? BBC Sherlock? Massively into Sons of Anarchy now as well, its taken over. I also caught up on series six onwards of Supernatural, and I have to say I hate the new seasons- it just isn't the same as the old episodes! I miss the old Sam and Dean, I'm gutted- another reason this story has been neglected; I sort of lost my love for supernatural, at least the new stuff. I'll try my best to update a bit more; this story hasn't got much more to go so it will get finished. I'm on summer hols now, so I can fit this in between art and dissertation writing. Hope you enjoy and I send you all very sincere virtual hugs for being so patient. xxxx_

Awareness came trickling back in fits and starts. For a time, her hearing filtered back in, and she picked up the sound of the television and the sound of someone's feet close by her bed. Someone laid a cold hand against her forehead and an achingly familiar voice spoke her name, but she couldn't open her eyes. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

She lay as still as she could, trying to control the roiling in her stomach that signalled she was sure to throw up soon. She held it back for as long as she could, and then had no choice but to lean over the side of the bed, bile rushing hot up her throat. She emptied the scant contents of her stomach, surprised to find that someone had placed a bucket by the side of her bed. She retched for a few long minutes, spitting out nothing but sour bile, trying to control the clamour of pain in her head.

"I had a feeling you were going to do that," came a calm voice from the corner of the room.

She bolted upright, half expecting to see Lucifer stood nonchalantly in the corner of the room. Then she remembered what had happened before she passed out.

Cristian was slouched in one of the ratty armchairs before the television, his face cast into sharp profile by the light from the TV. He had a half smile playing about his lips, and he was paler than she'd ever seen him. Hailing from the Californian coast, he had always been tanned golden from long days spent on the beach, and to see his skin so papery white was shocking. He was still the best thing she had ever laid her eyes on. It hurt to look at him, so she forced her eyes away with a great force of will. She stood up slowly and headed for the bathroom, trying to wrap her head around this sudden, bizarre turn of events.

She turned on the squeaking tap and splashed her face with icy cold water, swallowing great mouthfuls to wash to taste of bile out of her mouth. She glanced at the mirror hanging over the sink, and saw Cristian standing behind her, a look of great concern on his face. She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she opened them, he was still standing there. Exactly as she remembered him; tall, broad shouldered and well built, dark hair perfectly tousled, his face exactly the same one that had caught and held her attention when she first met him, seemingly a lifetime ago. She took a deep breath, her grip white knuckled on the edge of the sink.

Her sliver knife was lying on the sink next to her. She had to be sure. She had to check. She grabbed it and in a heartbeat, drew it across his forearm. His skin didn't hiss or blister, he barely even recoiled. He glanced down at his arm, where a thin line of blood was slowly leaking down his arm, a look of faint surprise on his face.

"I had to check," she whispered weakly, "If you're a revenant."

She leaned heavily against the counter, exhausted. The knife dropped from her hand and thudded to the stained carpet.

"Darlin..." he started. He reached out tentatively with one hand and laid it carefully on her shoulder. The weight was so familiar it made her heart clench.

"What mess have you gotten yourself into babe?"

She took a deep breath as if to answer, then burst into tears.

His arms came around her instantly. His embrace was cold, but comforting and painfully familiar. She turned her face into his solid chest and sobbed until her throat hurt and her lungs burned. He patted her hair gently, and simply waited quietly until her tears ran dry.

When her sobs turned to sniffs, he released her and pushed her back until she sat on the end of the bed. He curled two cold fingers under her chin and lifted her face to his. He caught a stray tear on the end of his finger, watched the drop of moisture hang there for a second before letting it fall.

"You wanna tell me what happened to make you look like a crack addict?"

She laughed, the first laugh for what felt like years, "I don't look that bad."

His tone was serious again, gentle, "But you aren't right."

"This coming from the guy who's been dead for six years!"

"I think I'm doing pretty well," he said, a smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

She reached out and laid her hand against his chest, covered in her favourite blue shirt, the one that brought out his eyes. There was no heartbeat, no warmth; where once he had been a beacon of life and vitality, he felt cold and strangely empty. But he was still like she remembered, still the first love she had ever had. His smile was the same, his dimples, that stubborn curl of dark hair behind his left ear that refused to lie right, the quiet strength in his shoulders. She felt fresh tears burn at the corners of her eyes.

"Cris..." she began, swallowing around the lump wedged painfully in her throat, "I...we...we burned you. I carried your ashes to that tree by that lake in California where we...you know. I scattered them there, like you always said you wanted. There was nothing of you left, how are you...how are you...here?"

He looked down at his lap, the worn denim of his jeans, and sighed deeply.

"I don't know. I just woke up under that tree, just looking up at the branches. About four days ago. I didn't know where I was, who I was, what I was doing there. It was just a...blank. I looked up, and the moon was massive, you know? Like someone had pulled it closer to the earth, and I remember thinking, Miriana would love that, and I'd ruin the romantic moment with a joke about werewolves and it all came crashing back. You, me, the Winchesters, hunting...my death. Somehow, I just knew where you were, so I wandered into this town and stole a couple of twenties out of this guys wallet and took about eight buses to get here. I didn't question why or how I was back, or what was happening to me. I just knew I needed to see you."

She felt the words like a physical blow to the chest. She curled her hands in the collar of his plaid shirt, pulling him closer.

"I tried Cris, I tried to stop him, but I couldn't and he just kept..._flaying_ the skin off your bones and I couldn't move, I couldn't get to you, I was pinned and I couldn't...I couldn't..." she fought for words. She felt short of breath, panicked. Her knuckles were white, her fingers aching from gripping his shirt so tightly.

"I'm so sorry!" she wailed, "I wasn't strong enough, I wasn't good enough, and I let you die, it was all my fault!"

He prised her hands loose from his shirt and cupped her face in his hands, "None of it was your fault. It was just the wrong place, wrong time. Never blame yourself. I'd die a thousand deaths to keep you safe, to keep you whole."

He leaned forwards and crushed his lips against hers, hard enough to knock the breath from her body. She threw one arm around his neck and curled her free hand in his dark hair. She parted her lips to the sweep of his tongue across her lower lip, and he moaned, a pained sound deep in his throat. Her heart was slamming against her ribs so hard she felt it was sure to burst clean out.

He pulled away and ran a shaking hand through her hair, pushing the strands away from her face.

"Christ, I love you so fucking much it hurts," he choked out, "I'd forgotten."

She pressed her forehead to his, trying to catch her breath, "I love you. I love you, I love you."

They sat like that for a few long minutes, breathing in each others exhales. She was shaking all over, and he was too. There was so much still unsaid, so many questions that needed answering. But she didn't want to know. She just wanted time alone with him, to convince herself the last six years hadn't happened, and there were still young and desperately in love.

She pulled away from him, "I...want to freshen up a bit...I'm not really on top of my personal hygiene right now."

He wrinkled his nose, "And I thought I was the dead one; it's you that smells like a dead skunk."

She thumped his arm playfully and rose from the bed. She felt his eyes keenly on her back as she walked to the grubby bathroom and shut the door. She looked at her fevered reflection in the mirror and barely recognised herself. No real surprise there; she hadn't recognised herself for a good few months.

She stripped her old clothes off turned on the creaking, clanking shower and stood shivering under the sputtering spray, despite the searing heat of the water. She picked up her shampoo and scrubbed it frantically through her greasy hair, washing away the dirt. She heard the sound of the TV flicking through channels through the thin walls. She sat down heavily on the cool tiles and rested her head against the wall. It all felt unreal, like she was watching someone else's life through a fogged mirror.

When the shower began to run cool, she stood on shaky legs and turned off the water, reaching for a long bath towel and dried herself off. She pulled a tattered Black Sabbath shirt over her head and roughly dried her hair. She felt cleaner, refreshed, even if her mind was no clearer.

She stepped out of the bathroom to see Cristian watching the TV, his forearms resting on his thighs. The colours flickered across his pale face and glinted in his eyes, making him seem unearthly and ethereal, something he had never been. He had always been strong and firm. His arm looked almost healed, just a thin pink line left.

He looked up at her entry and jumped to his feet. He walked towards her, almost shyly.

"Miriana," he said gently, "we need to talk-"

She reached up and put her hand over his mouth, "Not now. I don't want to talk right now, I don't."

"But-" he began, but she cut him off again.

"Please. I just want to forget, just for a bit."

She stood on her tip toes to kiss him, but he was unyielding. The TV continued to murmur in the background.

She pulled back just a little and slid her arms around his shoulders, curling her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

"I don't think we should," he said quietly.

She looked straight in his deep eyes, sensing that his resolve was faltering, "Please, Cristian."

He surrendered with a groan, crushing her to him. He walked them backwards until they reached the rumpled bed, while she undid the buttons of his shirt deftly and pulled it from his shoulders. He reached to the hem of her T-shirt, fingers grazing against her upper thighs and the scars painted there. He pulled it up and over her head, and she shivered when the cool air kissed her skin, still a little damp from the shower. She reached down between them and pulled the belt through his jeans, unzipping them and pushing them down his slim hips. He curled his arms underneath her thighs and lifted her easily, wrapping her legs around his waist. The world was spinning, and she pulled her mouth away to suck air into her lungs. Finding the hollow of her throat, he sucked at it until she felt a bruise flood her skin. He turned them, laid her on the bed like she was crafted from glass and knelt over her, her thighs against his knees.

"Hell, Miriana," he ground out, "Jesus you're so beautiful."

A sweet ache had settled in between her legs and she reached out to him needily, pulling his mouth back to hers. His lips trailed lower, over her throat and down to the silvery scar between her breasts and lower still, down to her scarred hip and thigh. Her head fell back against the pillow when his fingers hooked through the lace of her underwear and pulled it away. She felt heavy and languid with desire, something she hadn't truly felt for years.

She shed the last of his clothes and lifted her legs around his waist, meeting his eyes. He looked shaken, vulnerable. She brushed a hand against his cheek, a reassurance, and he surged forwards; the rush of their union made them both cry out, their voices suddenly loud. They fell back together as easy as breathing. The world fell away, somehow muted, like someone had turned the volume down. The press of his body, the mattress underneath her, his mouth; they all felt hyper real, and everything else felt somehow fake, an illusion. In those few hours, the last six years had never happened, and she was back to the person she had been. She didn't care that it was probably wrong on so many levels or that Dean would have enough ammunition to wind her up for years, or that her long dead boyfriend had returned with no explanation. She didn't care at all. She had enough of doing the right thing, of being moral.

Afterwards, she laid with her head against his chest, doing her best to ignore the lack of heartbeat and focusing instead on the rush of breath in and out of his body. His hand moved steadily through her slightly damp hair, pulling the tangles loose. His chest bore the marks of her nails, her collarbone the shape of his teeth. She'd told him everything; all that had happened with the Winchesters, Dean's death, the angels, the impending apocalypse, her Aunt's death. He took it all in with surprising calmness. She had the distinct impression that he knew something he wasn't telling, but she didn't want to ask. She didn't want to ruin the moment.

Her phone rang suddenly, cutting through the hush that had been lulling her to sleep.

"Don't answer it," he murmured against her hair.

"Mmmm," she mumbled. She reached out and slapped her phone off. Within seconds it began ringing again, and she sat up, reaching across him to check the screen.

He slapped her arm playfully, "Leave it."

It was Dean. She got the impression he was going to keep ringing until she answered or blew her brains out. She might as well get rid of him now.

"I'll just get rid of him," she said, pulling the sheet around her and sliding from the bed, avoiding his arms as he tried to hook her back in.

She slid into the bathroom and shut the door, sliding her thumb across the screen to answer the call.

"What?" she said shortly. Cristian's sudden reappearance may have healed some of the shards of her wounded soul, but she had not forgotten her anger.

"Finally, you answer your Goddamn phone!" Dean's voice sounded rough and sleep deprived, "Where the hell have you been?"

"You actually care?" she asked bitterly.

His voice softened momentarily, "Of course I do."

"I needed time away," she said with a heavy sigh, "Time to...deal with stuff."

"I know, I get it. Look Miriana..."

"It doesn't matter Dean," she said quietly, "I understand."

There was a beat of silence on the other end of the phone, broken by a rush of static as Dean heaved something like a relieved sigh.

"What are you ringing me for Dean?"

"There's some serious crap going down at Bobby's," Dean said, the haggard edge returning to his voice, "Revenants everywhere, people popping up from the grave. Well, like revenants, I'm not so sure they are. They're definitely dead though. But they don't look dead, just a bit peaky. Bobby's wife is back."

She swallowed hard. She could hear Crisitian flipping through channels again. She felt sick. She remembered Bobby's wife, a kindly, pretty blond woman forever foisting pies on her whenever she visited, clucking over her health like a mother hen. It had almost destroyed Bobby when she died.

"I reckon its the apocalypse screwing everything's mojo. Check the Good Book, there's tons of crap in there about the dead rising. It's a sign, Miriana, things are going bad."

She found her voice, somehow, small in the back of her throat, "And how is Bobby's wife?"

"Alright, but...it ain't gonna last Miriana. Nothing good ever comes of this, I'm telling you. It's gonna go South soon, I'm telling you. Seen any activity where you are?"

She glanced through the crack in the door. She could see the light playing across Cristian's body, sprawled across the sheets. Her fingers traced the love bites strewn across her collarbone. Did he know why he had been risen from the dead? Who had crafted him back into, well, un-death? Was that what he was hiding?

"Nothing," she managed to get out, her voice strangled, "Nothing at all."

"Good. I think things are getting rough here, Miriana. I might have to put Karen down before she hurts Bobby, but he won't let me anywhere near her. It's killing him, Miriana. What should I do?"

She clutched the sheet tighter around her. She suddenly felt very naked, in more ways than one. Poor Bobby.

"I don't know, Dean."

"If you can get here soon, Miriana...I'd...I'd really appreciate it. We might need your help."

She shivered, "I'll try."

"Look Miriana, I know I haven't been there for you recently, but...I...oh crap, I'm not good at this. I just need to see you."

"I know, I understand, but I just...I need a few more days. I'll try Dean, I will."

He sighed again. He sounded as exhausted as she suddenly felt.

"Alright. Look just...take care of yourself."

He hung up the phone, leaving her listening to the drone of static. She put the phone on the countertop and put her head in her hands. The bottom of her stomach seemed to have dropped clean out of her body. She should have known better, she should have not been caught up in him and kicked him out instantly. What had she been thinking? Nothing ever happened without a reason, and for her, it was never a good reason. She couldn't tell Dean or Sam, or Castiel. They'd kill Cristian instantly, and they'd throw her in a strait jacket for even considering letting him in her bed. Maybe she was starting to lose her mind; it was bound to have happened at some point. She heard him humming along to a commercial on the TV, and she was transported back again to six years ago, lying in his bed and listening to him imitate news readers and actors, cursing at the football and picking holes in all her favourite films simply to wind her up, his eyes crinkled with laughter, and she sank to the floor, pulling the sheet around her shivering body.


End file.
